


Shades of Ianto: Series Two

by sarcasticchick



Series: Shades of Ianto [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Stargate Atlantis, Torchwood
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Dragons, Drama, M/M, Multi, Season/Series 01, Series, Supernatural Elements, Telepathy, Torchwood 4, Torchwood One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 123,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticchick/pseuds/sarcasticchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto is much more than a teaboy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red Shift

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of my Series 2, blatantly disregarding any spoilers from TW S2 or DW S3. I repeat - no spoilers, no plot from TW S2 or DW3, canon diverges at this point.
> 
> Pretty light on the crossover - the characters and similar themes made them a convenient cast of secondary support.
> 
> ***Moving things over from LJ as there are better reading/formatting options - not a new fic, but feel free to reread if you'd like!***
> 
> *******

"You know, you're not Jack."

Ianto grimaced as Owen tugged with what he deemed was more force than necessary at the stitches he was lacing in Ianto's cheek. It wasn't that bad of a gash, really, more a scratch, but Owen had demanded to see to Ianto's injuries before either of them went home.

Tosh and Gwen had claimed business to attend to at the Hub as well.

The creature had taken them all by surprise, waiting outside the pub they frequented every Monday and Thursday eve as well as after every near-victory, a tradition borne by desperation and the resolve to carry on. They had first gone after Gwen had almost been taken by an alien with green horns and tail with a penchant for freckles. Then it happened again, and again, and eventually became pattern. Ianto took it out of Torchwood's budget as "team bonding exercises." What did it matter, he signed off on all the requests at any rate. And it did help. Except when they left and ran into an alien wielding a slim blade (claw?) with a deadly reach. Two people had died before they got involved; Owen would very nearly have followed if not for Ianto's timely shove. Ianto had been the focus instead, though he found the alien's attack remarkably similar to fencing and was quick enough to avoid the slashes. For the most part. Tosh had killed it with her pepper spray; its skin reacted poorly to the chemical mist, rather like a fatal case of hives.

And so Torchwood Three functioned, by the skin of their teeth and a little dose of luck.

Sometimes, Ianto thought they only survived because they were anxiously waiting for Jack's return, unwilling to lose the fight before they saw him swagger into the Hub, broadly grinning on a high from his latest adventures from beyond this space and time. At this point, six months after Jack's disappearance ( _departure_ , really, since Ianto knew he had left by choice), Ianto didn't really care if he ever returned. At first he had been angry, then he mourned, and then he found himself in his current state of apathy. He should replace Jack, but unlike the others who didn't ask for Jack to be replaced because that would mean admitting he was gone and never returning, he didn't replace Jack simply because he couldn't be bothered with it. He had other things to worry about than replacing an arrogant, deserting, selfish, shallow man who cared nothing more for anyone else than what it got for him in the next breath.

The children were still missing.

Six months had gone by since Jack had left, nearly nine since Avalon had been destroyed. Ianto refused to lose hope and give in to the fear that they were lost forever, but he could see it creeping into Jean-Luc and Stephen's faces. Time had long since run out -- like a forest after a fire, Avalon actually housed two new students under the tutelage of Stephen and Jean-Luc. Tosh could find nothing new on the whereabouts of Torchwood Four -- that idea was all but thrown out as far as an explanation and Ianto was out of options, though he never quit scouring the Archives. Whoever had Avalon had them well-hidden and was somehow blocking the kids' abilities -- one of them would surely have enough strength to shout out to anyone listening otherwise.

Although the resident Boy Wonder was currently disabled and wasn't "listening" like normal.

Ianto couldn't blame Jean-Luc his fears and reservations, but it was frustrating to witness. He supposed he himself had dealt with trauma after London (and dealt rather poorly, if hiding a Cyberman in the basement of the Hub was any indication) but it felt as though they didn't have time for Jean-Luc to work through his issues. But no matter how they pushed, Jean-Luc remained as mentally "paralyzed" as the general populous.

With Avalon Two rebuilt and Stephen taking up teaching, "Mr. Black" fell out of the sight and mind, for all Torchwood knew. Stephen still phoned occasionally, pretending to check in, but for the most part Ianto bore in quiet the duties of the office with the same obsessive order as he did Torchwood Three. Five more countries had been brought into the shaky alliance -- India, Australia, South Africa, Mexico, and Canada -- creating a network of thirteen who all swore to assist if one or more were to fall to alien threat. It wasn't much, but it was a start. The United States had been the closest to needing assistance; Colonel Sheppard had regaled the story of the alien invasion of the zombie creatures who fed on brains (the hippocampus, in specific). The way Sheppard had told it had made Ianto laugh while he drank a scotch in Jack's office, no laughing matter but Sheppard had described the aliens as "slug-faced lemurs with mouths like Jaws and ears like Batman."

If Ianto cared, he would note that Sheppard reminded him a lot of the Captain, but he didn't. And if he enjoyed his late-night conversations with Sheppard, then it was simply because Sheppard was entertaining and took him away from the pains of the day and the hollow echo of the Hub.

The shadows still moved and Ianto still picked up petals before the team arrived in the morning. It was oddly comforting -- Ianto believed that if the faeries ever stopped watching, it was time to be concerned.

Fingers snapped in front of his face and Ianto blinked, realizing he had never answered Owen's statement. _You're not Jack._ Yes, Ianto was painfully aware of that fact and was reminded every morning when the team looked to him during their morning meeting with respect that was merely biding its time until Jack returned. It stung a bit, knowing they'd rather have Jack. Ianto was only human after all. But he did the best he could.

He wondered, briefly, if this was how Jack felt in the Doctor's presence. Ianto was no fool -- the interviews, the hand, Gwen's statement that Jack was looking for the "right kind of doctor" -- he put two and two together to equal "The Doctor," nemesis and bane of Torchwood, for whatever that was worth. The others hadn't grown up with the dedication to the capture of the elusive man, but Ianto was beginning to doubt some of Torchwood's most impassioned creeds against aliens, but not their tech. If he wasn't mistaken, the Doctor had assisted during the Battle. He had at least been within the building and Ianto didn't think he would have assisted either Dalek or Cyberman, but perhaps he had done nothing at all and if that were true, Ianto hoped the Doctor would roast eternally in whatever existed as hell for Time Lords. All was possible, though Ianto reserved judgement until he questioned the Doctor himself.

Ianto had heard tales of the _presence_ of the Time Lord, and privately wondered if Jack wasn't trying to emulate the Doctor, or if it was a natural, inherent quality from whatever distant land and time they came from. Just as the others would drop everything and follow Jack, so would Jack do with the Doctor. It was quite depressing, actually. Ianto knew he had none of that. But he did the best he could.

Yet he still wasn't Jack. "Yes, not only was he abysmal at paperwork, but he couldn't brew a decent pot of coffee even if it got him laid."

"That's not..." There was another tug at his cheek and Ianto heard Owen's tools clatter on the metal tray. "You're bloody mortal, you twat. Don't think we haven't noticed. I'd wager the job came with a death wish, only _you_ can actually die."

Owen handed him two pills that Ianto recognized as antibiotics and a tiny paper cup of water. He took both without question -- he knew what the sedatives looked like and Owen had only tried it that once. Owen leaned against the edge of the counter and watched with arms crossed as Ianto swallowed both. Really, Ianto didn't need another smothering him. He had Elaine already doing that. "Then learn to move faster. That creature nearly skewered you."

"This isn't about me."

"It's not?" Ianto rose from the exam table and gathered his suit coat, not bothering to look in any reflective surface. He grabbed the regimen of antibiotics as well -- he knew now well enough what the pattern was. He was lucky the things still worked for him. "If I die, then leadership rests on you, unless you pass it off again." Low, but truth.

"I don't give a damn about that!" Owen spluttered for a moment, starting and stopping repeatedly while Ianto watched impassively. Finally Owen looked like he gave up on whatever he was trying to say, for which Ianto was rather glad. He was tired of trying to interpret Owen's half-starts. "Forget it! Take your bloody antibiotics and come to me before your cheek turns black and your face falls off."

Ianto watched as Owen stormed out of the room and shouted his goodbyes to Tosh and Gwen. When Ianto finally climbed the stairs and joined the others, he kindly told them to go home. Gwen's protest was interrupted by a yawn and Tosh simply agreed, handing Ianto a stack of reports on oddities she'd noticed coinciding with the increase in Rift activity over the past two years. The numbers swam in front of Ianto, but he would look them over before he went home. He took them to Jack's office, setting them on the desk but he didn't look, just rested his forehead on his arms. And if he later went to sleep on Jack's bed, it was merely because he was too exhausted to drive home, not for any other reason.

***

"Ianto!"

Tosh's squeal had Ianto's heart leaping into this throat as he fed Myfanwy, but he quickly realized it was not Tosh-in-pain or Tosh-in-danger, it was Tosh-extremely-excited. He finished setting up Myfanwy's evening meal (he knew better than to short the poor girl a meal -- a Pterodactyl scorned was not a pretty sight) and stripped off the gloves and raced to Tosh's desk, slowing when he didn't see her. Her voice had come from this locale, but she wasn't there. "Tosh?" His eyes scanned Jack's office, the conference room, the other desks, feeling more and more unnerved as the hairs on the back of his neck rose in response to being watched (not the faeries, it had a different feel). Knowing that Owen and Gwen were out investigating a reported flying alien sighting and lacking a better weapon, he grabbed a pen from Tosh's desk, knowing the small puncture would be harmless in most cases, but if whatever was in the Hub had eyes, he could possibly do some damage. His fingers were on the keyboard to send the Hub into lock-down when he caught movement to the side of him. Spinning, pen clutched as a dagger, Ianto froze. He saw that it was Tosh, staring with wide-eyes and clutching a device in her hands.

"It's me!" Tosh rushed, holding her hands up in defense or peace, Ianto wasn't sure.

Ianto looked around warily, unsure where the unseen eyes had vanished to. Maybe Tosh's added presence had frightened it off. He started a scan of the Hub at any rate on Tosh's computer, using the one monitor to which wasn't scrolling numbers at a furious pace. "Sorry. Thought I ... " Ianto couldn't explain it without sounding mental, so he just pressed on. "What did you find?"

"It's shifted! That's why we can't see it, it's out of phase. I'm still running calculations, but I noted-"

Tosh kept talking, Ianto knew she was, but the sound was bouncing off the bubble so only warped distorted syllables reached his mind. He tried to fight the urge to vomit or run, or both would be a viable option. _Ghost shifts....out of phase...enough energy to power Britain...so many dead...not again not _bloody_ again, can't be, no army to fight it, there's only four..._

"Ianto!" The sharp sting on his face snapped him out of the hysteria building in his mind. Dazed, he noted that now he had two pains in his cheeks, one side still stitched from the previous night's confrontation, the other a remarkable hand-shaped sting. "I'm so sorry! You were ... "

Once his surroundings came into focus, Ianto realized he was sitting in Tosh's chair, hands shaking violently as he tried to not remember running through the halls of Torchwood One, hiding from those wishing to convert every human into desensitized metal shells bent on conquering and destroying. He'd panicked, he belatedly realized, embarrassed to find himself clinging as much to Tosh as she was to him as she apologized over and over. He had to pull himself together. Not only was he acting head of Torchwood Three, he was the head of all Torchwood. If there was to be another invasion, he would lead them. He had to. It was his duty.

"I"m fine, Tosh, really." Ianto peeled himself away from her and stood, taking a deep breath and centered himself (and his balance, as that was precarious at best on knees that still trembled). He shoved his fear aside. Fear was irrational and, while warranted, it was useless now. Rubbing a hand over his face to provide a tactile sense of self (and numbing the sting still in his cheek), Ianto calmed and hid behind the front he knew would have to remain steady until death or victory. "How long until the incursion begins?"

"How do you do that?"

Her question gave Ianto pause. "Do what?"

"You...never mind." Tosh shook her head then pointed at the monitors. "That's just it. It's not an incursion."

Ianto scowled, trying to make sense of the numbers flashing by on the screens. That didn't make sense -- Cybermen didn't come for tea. "You said shift."

"Shift?" He could see the moment she found her answer to her question, a look which bordered on compassion altering her features. "No, oh, no. It's not the Cybermen, Ianto. It's _them_. At least, I think so. I've been running numbers to compare frequencies and-"

"Who's them?" Ianto couldn't hide his wince at the sound of that name spoken by Tosh. _Cybermen_. That was a name no one on Earth should ever have to speak again. It almost sounded ugly coming from Tosh, who could turn even the most nefarious term into a sweet sound.

Tosh gestured to one screen with a diagram of a building with rooms and halls labeled by Ianto himself as the original blueprints lacked some of the changes which had been made after construction. "It's Torchwood Four."

Ianto's attention honed in on what Tosh had said, though he had to remind himself that this meant nothing in regards to Avalon. It was just a desperate theory on his part, though few would know Ms. White enough to hate unless they were Torchwood or Avalon. And even fewer would have the resources and numbers to do what had happened. "Tell me."

She ran through her notes, her calculations. She'd first noticed odd frequencies connected with activity in the Rift -- not after Rift activity, but before. A slow frequency, like a red shift on a time-scale. Tosh spoke quickly, counting on Ianto to follow through her formulas and theories. An alteration in time which pushed everything out of phase with "current" time. Objects and people appeared to disappear from current time, but they were still there, just progressing at a different rate of time than the surroundings. For all intents and purposes, invisible. From theory she went into practice -- holding up the device Ianto recognized from the Archives. She'd tweaked it, she said, once she realized what the odd, slow frequencies meant.

And then she demonstrated it.

Tosh disappeared, leaving Ianto staring into empty space and once again feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise as he felt himself being watched. He resisted the urge, this time, to grab a pen to defend himself. But only just.

"Where?" He asked once she shifted back to "his" time, though she insisted that it affected everything around her, not herself, with the time shift. "Oxford?"

"No," she hesitated and he knew he would not like her answer. "They moved it, somehow, perhaps setting up a containment field surrounding the altered time, you wouldn't be lifting any mass at all but displacing-"

"Tosh! Where."

"The Beacons." She pulled up a map of the area, pointing to a location where time lines running parallel like a topographic map of the region started running perpendicular, creating a crosshatch nearly outlining what Ianto could almost make out as being "building-shaped."

Ianto cursed his luck, cursed every deity he knew of in this world and others, then followed it up with a curse directed at Ms. White and Jack. He had made his promise to Tosh, though. "I need you to stay here and continue finding out everything about this location. Update me with everything you learn. Thank you, this is brilliant work." Ianto felt lighter than he had for the past year. It may not be the answer, it may not even be the source of the missing kids, but it was the first concrete lead they'd had. Not to mention, solved a nearly twenty-year-old mystery.

He grabbed the device, noting the dials for range and frequency. He hoped it would be strong enough to get him and Stephen and Jean-Luc inside. Ignoring Tosh's protests, Ianto punched in the code for the weapons housing, pulling what he knew he could carry and a little more. Stephen and Jean-Luc had weapons of their own at Avalon, he didn't need to bring everything in the arsenal.

"Owen and Gwen-"

"Will be back whenever they get back. I'm just going to go poke around, I'll call for backup if I need it." Ianto didn't miss the disbelieving look on Tosh's face, but now that he had a location and a method, he refused to wait any longer when the kids could be there. He'd plan their attack on the way -- he'd pick up Jean-Luc and Stephen and head out to the Beacons. It was a bit of a drive -- plenty of time to figure out what to do once they go there and shifted everything back into "current" time.

God, that would explain why Jean-Luc couldn't find them. Phased into another time, even his strong gifts wouldn't be able to follow.

"Ianto, be careful."

She set one of Owen's energy bars and one of her own chocolate bars on his ammunition. Not a bad idea; the adrenaline was going to wear off at some point from his earlier panic, and he was going to crash. Hopefully later rather than sooner. Not that the bars were going to do much for that, but it might help. He was glad she didn't try to argue against him leaving. In fact, she had remained remarkably calm about his leaving alone. Though, he supposed she didn't have any choice -- he was the boss. Disregarding his usual aloofness, Ianto gave Tosh a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, grinning when she blushed. "If this is what I think it is, I won't be able to thank you enough, Tosh."

"Just come back to us."

Ianto's smile wavered, just slightly, remembering the last time he'd been told that and hoped it wasn't a sign of things to come. "Owen would be more than capable in my absence, though you may find the coffee rather poor." He winked and she laughed, a light sound filling his heart.

He gathered his things and took off for his car, knowing that Owen and Gwen had the SUV loaded with equipment, tossing everything into the passenger seat before jumping into the driver's. He dialed Stephen as he pealed out of the lot, tearing open the protein bar as he sped off towards Avalon.

"Stephen, I think we've found them."

***

Three figures dressed in black strode purposefully out of Avalon towards the car park, loaded to the teeth with weapons and ammunition. Ianto had told them they could be mistaken, it could be the wrong place, but on a gut-level, he knew this was right. It was the only explanation why the children had never been found, despite Jean-Luc's searching. Ianto hadn't seen the purpose in changing into some of Stephen's clothes ("If I'm sneaking around a building, I would rather appear as one of them, not a trespasser, could I draw more attention in this?") but the other two had insisted, pointing out that it was night (in this time, at any rate) and if they had to sneak into the building, dark clothing would blend far better than Ianto's light grey suit.

Ianto felt like he was going to a club dressed in leather, not sneaking into a building technically falling under his management but Stephen swore they were the only other black articles of clothing he owned, and Jean-Luc's certainly wouldn't fit.

He rather believed his two friends had planned it.

As they walked towards their vehicles, Ianto froze when he saw another walking towards them, long coat trailing behind them as they walked quickly to join the trio. Three pairs of guns were out before Ianto could second guess his actions, all directed at the lone figure and for a brief moment, Ianto believed Jack had returned.

"I'm coming with you."

Toshiko. Dressed in equally dark clothing, her hair pulled back and looking fierce as Ianto had ever seen her with weapons tucked into holsters at her hips and if he wasn't mistaken, at her calves. Ianto stared speechless before dropping his guns, motioning for Stephen and Jean-Luc to do the same. Of course, her figure was all wrong for Jack, and it was foolish of him to hope that it was the captain. Jack had left. And they were dealing without him. "How did you find me?"

"I tracked your car."

Of course. Ianto really had to consider removing the tracking device from the vehicle, as well as leaving his phone behind when he went to Avalon. He hated the notion of retconning one of his own. "I told you to keep looking into everything you'd found."

"And you never ask for help. I'm offering." Before Ianto could protest, Tosh continued with a bow towards Stephen but how Tosh knew...Ianto wasn't ashamed to admit he hadn't the slightest notion how she knew. "Mr. Black. So this is where you moved Avalon?"

Six guns whipped up, no caution taken as Ianto tried to figure out if she was friend or foe. Avalon hadn't had a lot of friends, lately.

Tosh, bless her, didn't even blink. "My cousin, Akira Takahashi has attended Avalon for five years. My family is very proud of our gifted Akira and has been desperate to find her after Avalon's destruction." She nodded at Ianto, careful not to make any sudden movements, Ianto assumed. So that was why she had agreed so easily when he'd left. Tosh wasn't to be underestimated. Not that he'd ever considered that, but he had missed that relation.

Tosh continued, speaking to Ianto. "I knew you were involved after your 'migraine' and absence when Ms. White was killed and Avalon destroyed. I recognized Mr. Black's voice -- I'd met you years ago when I brought my cousin to the school. I assumed your interest in Torchwood Four was connected and did what I could to help." She paused for a moment, flailing a bit when the guns never lowered. "She had an invisible friend when she was little, a cat named Keiko. She's frightened of lightning and she ate so much birthday cake she got sick on her ninth birthday and ended up with the healers instead of having fun with her friends."

Ianto didn't know the truth to any of Tosh's statements, so he asked Jean-Luc, who often knew the kids better than any of the adults. "Jean-Luc?"

Jean-Luc lowered his weapons, tucking them back into the holsters. "Yeah, she's alright. 'Kira told me about her cat friend. Wanted to know if I could see if Keiko had travelled with her to Avalon."

"You're Jean-Luc?" Tosh seemed surprised as Stephen and Ianto followed Jean-Luc's actions. "Of course, that's how you knew to come for Ianto after..." Her eyes darted to Ianto with apology and Ianto just shrugged his acceptance. His earlier reactions led him to believe he wasn't as "over it" as he thought himself to be, but he wasn't still so traumatized he couldn't speak of Lisa. Or his horrendous misjudgment.

"At your service, madam. So you've heard of me?" Jean-Luc bowed and thickly layered his French accent which most times disappeared.

"Akira had a few things to say about a certain Jean-Luc." Tosh giggled (she giggled! Ianto was going to have a word with Jean-Luc) and turned to Ianto. "There's just one question...you're not...?"

Jean-Luc stepped in before Ianto could even respond. "No, he's not. Boy's not got a gifted bone in his body."

"Big talk, coming from you, Jean-Luc," Stephen chimed in finally, having remained silent through most of the exchange.

"He hit his head during the attack on Avalon," Ianto supplied for Tosh. "Gifts have been a bit blinkered ever since."

"Blinkered!? You mock my injuries. Can we go now? I'd like to get the kids back, if you don't mind."

"You do realize..." Ianto started, turning to Tosh. His nerves were already beginning to shake, though they had yet to leave the car park.

"If you are going, then so can I," Tosh raised her chin defiantly, the return trip to the Beacons not exactly high on either of their priority lists. Stephen and Jean-Luc were watching the exchange, but they didn't comment. They didn't know, and Ianto preferred not to inform either of them of the horrors that had met Tosh and he in the Beacons the last time they had ventured to that part of the countryside. "Akira's family."

Ianto smiled and nodded, understanding Tosh's commitment. He would do anything for family. Problem was, he was having a harder and harder time defining the limits of his family.


	2. Snow-White Wings and Claws

In the end, Ianto handed the device over to Tosh, who had, after all, created their entrance into Torchwood Four. The air shimmered as time was altered (Torchwood Four's time, Ianto reminded himself, not theirs. The device counteracted whatever mechanism was forcing Torchwood Four into their sub-time, though for all intents and purposes, Ianto was happy to refer to it as the "Time Mime. " Sometimes he amused himself) and the two times united, revealing the place sought after for almost twenty years.

"A bit anticlimactic. I was expecting a hail of bullets or flying cattle," Jean-Luc whispered, crouched in the shadows with Ianto and the others. It was rather castle-like, though a small, pint-sized castle might be more appropriate.

"If all they do is call my mother a hamster, I'll be happy." It was easy to slip into their old pattern, he and Jean-Luc, getting into trouble but having a grand time while doing it. _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ had been an old favorite, as had _Ghostbusters_ and _Spaceballs_.

"Careful, we might be in for a bit of peril."

"Oh, let's go in there and sample some peril!"

"Boys!"

Ianto and Jean-Luc shared a smirk, then looked as innocent as they could at Stephen, to Tosh's amusement. "Yes, sir?" they chorused in response to their former mentor, straightening up despite their humor. Stephen was right, it was time to be on their guard. And that was the first thing that struck Ianto as odd. "There are no guards. Camera isn't active either."

"They were hidden out of time. There's no need for security," speculated Tosh as she followed Ianto's finger to locate the camera, dark and inactive. Ianto spotted two more by the front door, but by his calculations, even if they were turned on (he didn't believe so), there was deadspace he could sneak past to enter the code to get inside. That was, if they hadn't managed to change the code, but there was one that was hardwired into all of the Torchwood entrances that would override all others. They surely wouldn't have detected it when they reprogrammed the locks, which Ianto assumed they had.

A perk to the job, Ianto thought as he motioned to the others to remain still and darted forward, flattening himself against the building and counting his stars for a lack of shield or anything painful that action might have encountered. And a dangerous perk, a code where death was preferable to its reveal under duress. His mother's last will had made that very, very clear. Not the will read for the family, but the one the Queen kept for times when leadership passed. It had been eerie, reading that amidst the finery and under the watchful eyes of the Queen, hearing his mother's voice within the written words on the double-sided sheets of paper. Instructions how to manage, instructions about Avalon and Torchwood, comments on leadership and what the position meant and entailed. A bit condescending, if Ianto were to be asked, but then, that had been Ms. White.

He punched in the master code, smiling as the doors unlocked and no alarm sounded. Ianto motioned for the others to join him, jumping to bat the one camera just slightly out of sight. They'd have to make sure to take out the Communication center; they were going to have a hard enough time escaping with all the kids if they were indeed housed here without alarms and sensors alerting everyone to their presence.

Alerting everyone, if anyone was present.

Which Ianto was seriously beginning to doubt. "Jean-Luc, anything?"

Jean-Luc shook his head, but whether that was a "no, I don't sense anything" or a "no, I can't sense anything because I am repressing" Ianto wasn't certain. "Thanks for the help." Ianto touched his com set, turning it on to make sure it worked, and everyone did the same. "Tosh and I will take take out Communications. Stephen and Jean-Luc, find the holding cells. Start down this section -- schematics make it the most viable location if they're holding hostages. We'll catch up with you. Disarm and disable, ask questions, try to avoid killing. We need to know what they're up to, might not be anything if they don't realize they're out of time and they don't have the kids. Got it?"

Quick nods and Stephen and Jean-Luc headed off in one direction, Ianto and Tosh in the other towards the room Ianto clearly remembered as being the central communications area. Unsurprisingly, the room was void of people, just instruments blinking radio signals and dead video monitors. It didn't take long to disable all internal and external communications, though a piece of alien code threw Tosh for a moment. There had to be people using the facility; phone calls between rooms had occurred less than an hour before Ianto and everyone had entered, but they saw no one.

"Could everyone be out of time with the building itself?"

Ianto considered Tosh's question as he skimmed the records, then shook his head. "Unlikely. Not outside the realm of possibility, but if they were displaced in time themselves, the building itself would not be as it was before they shifted. Just as we couldn't see the building, they wouldn't be able to see it either."

She agreed and finished her work; Ianto wished they had thought to bring a recording device to copy the files. Later, that information might prove useful. But after the race to the building before its location disappeared again, Ianto forgot to bring something, alien or not. "Shall we?"

Tosh smiled the sweet, nervous-yet-confident smile he remembered the last time they had been in the Brecons, only their roles were a bit reversed and he had been trapped amid thoughts of Torchwood One. The irony was not lost now, as he was first out the door, weapon at the ready, leading the charge as they chased ghosts decades old and hopefully not a cannibal to be found.

Really, he hoped to find anyone; the empty halls were becoming rather eerie.

But at least the walls weren't burning. Ianto didn't know how he would react to another Torchwood burning, and after the additional stresses of Avalon, he'd rather not test his psyche.

He turned to ask Tosh how her own psyche was holding up under the pressures of their location and, for her, an unfamiliar team, when he saw someone sneaking in the shadows towards them, someone Ianto didn't offhand recognize outside of the fact that it wasn't one of the team or one of the kids. Ianto didn't think twice and shoved Tosh to the side towards the quasi-protection of a heavy ornate cabinet, ducking as well as the wall exploded behind his head.

Someone armed.

Before Ianto could raise his weapon to return fire, the crack of gunfire made him start, blinking as the man in the shadows fell to the floor. Tosh knelt near him, partially hidden by a cabinet, breathing quickly as she stared at the man, her gun poised for a second shot, if necessary.

It wasn't.

Ianto stalked towards their downed attacker, kicking the rifle away, not missing the fact that this was the second time he and Tosh had been chased by someone with a rifle. Their line of work, sometimes it just wasn't fair. The man was dead; Tosh was a good shot, Ianto noted. "Where'd you learn to shoot?" he asked, taking in the man's appearance. He was younger than Ianto had expected, his face familiar from the Torchwood Four's files and surprisingly _youthful_. It didn't make any sense, the man should be near 60.

He looked up to find Tosh blushing, flustered and unable to respond. Ah yes. The patented Harkness firearms training ~~seduction~~ session. Ianto had never experienced it, but Suzie had talked about it, Owen as well. And Gwen. Something about Jack and his guns ... Ianto wasn't jealous, it'd be ridiculous to feel that way and besides, he had already been trained, but he was envious he'd never had a moment like what he saw between Gwen and Jack on the internal CCTV. He never would. In fact, Jack had never even bothered asking if he knew how to fire a weapon, just assumed when he'd slapped a gun in his hand before they left for the Brecon Beacons the first time ...

Ianto put on his best "love-him-and-hate-him-don't-you?" smile and grabbed the rifle, unwilling to leave it behind for anyone to pick up and use against them. "He taught you well."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

For a moment Ianto thought she was apologizing for bringing up Jack, but he quickly put together the guilt and the quick looks at the dead body (Christian Dore, accounting). "Tosh, he shot at us without real provocation. I doubt he would have answered our questions."

She didn't look convinced, and while he was certain Tosh had reacted as she ought to have, he wasn't convinced that they couldn't have gotten answers out of Christian. Or at least hints on what they were doing. Or if they knew of the whereabouts of the children. Ianto found himself interrupted from saying anything else, however, stopped by Stephen's voice in his ear.

"We found them!"

***

Relieved that they'd encountered no one else in the corridors, Ianto quickly led Tosh through the halls he remembered from the blueprints. Stephen's joyous shout in their com links had been most welcome after Ianto's initial guilt for the other man's death. Tosh's doubt had lifted as well. Ianto made note to speak with her after this was all sorted out; he wasn't sure if she had ever killed a human before. Aliens, that somehow made it different, though Ianto spent far too much of his time debating the ethics and morals. If only their encounters were more of the "we come in peace" kind, less of the vicious attacks, but Ianto sometimes could hardly blame them. Fear, unfamiliar territory, the will to live ... it all made sense in a frightening kind of way.

Aliens intent on destruction because of pure ruthlessness were another matter -- Ianto paused as they approached an open doorway, clearing the room before they moved on -- and Ianto had no qualms defending Britain and her people from invading threats. He hadn't been, not initially, though he had put on a good act. Surprisingly, it hadn't been Torchwood One or Lisa. It hadn't been Torchwood Three, either. In fact, it had nothing to do with aliens, not any more than breathing was for him. He had been with his sister, father, and nephews for his birthday, eating the cake his sister had specially decorated again (his nephews' choice -- they were still in their sword fighting phase and chose a king for Ianto's cake. When Ianto asked who his queen was, his nephews stated firmly "Jack." Ianto didn't quite know how to respond, though he was sure, wherever/whenever Jack was, he would appreciate the fact that he had made an impact on Ianto's nephews) when it hit him that he was responsible for them. For the land on which the house stood, the country, the people. He'd choked on the bite of cake, fairly certain he'd have bruises the next day from his father thumping him on the back. The creatures they fought, the children they taught, every piece of tech that floated through the Rift that might benefit (or at least educate to the harm)...he was responsible for. The five-legged beast from Alpha Centari that had destroyed a city block before the team had captured it (luck, again, Gwen's perfume put it to sleep), it could have ended up at his father's if it hadn't been stopped, and perhaps it would have been the mutilated bodies of his nephews he had thrown into the SUV.

It wasn't a hard choice, after that moment. He didn't know why it had taken so long. He had grown up with Torchwood and Avalon. But now, now he understood perhaps a bit more about what drove his mother. And that made the alien deaths tolerable, the dull ache after each nothing that a glass of whiskey couldn't cure.

Odd how most of those they encountered were less friendly and more destructive. Perhaps Earth had a neon intergalactic banner pointing directions through the Rift to a nearly indefensible world ripe for the pickings. Sheppard had said the same thing, though apparently he had made friends with a few races. Once more, Ianto wished Jack was around, but only for the knowledge the man held as far as space treatise went. There had to be a way to protect Earth from greater harm, and the Archives were remarkably bare in anything relating to property rights on the universe's Monopoly board.

But this -- Torchwood Four -- this was Earth's own problem. _His_ problem.

And they had Ianto's kids.

As Tosh and he moved closer to Stephen's reported location, they could hear hushed voices, brimming with excitement and slightly colored in fear. If they were planning on covert operations, Ianto noted they failed miserably. But, at the same time, he couldn't fault any of them for being excited to go home, even if home was now different. With as few people as had been encountered (the one in Communications, another he and Tosh had found shot dead in the corridor, Ianto assumed the man had threatened Stephen and Jean-Luc first) there was hardly any immediate concern of being discovered, but Ianto knew the threat remained constant and he wouldn't relax until every last person was back safe at Avalon.

Ianto nodded to Tosh, gesturing towards the first room where voices seemed to be originating, and walked into barely constrained chaos. The room was massive, making Ianto doubt the reliability of even his modified blueprints. Cells lined all four walls, sparse accommodations with pallets -- better than Torchwood Three's holding cells, at any rate -- and looked like they could hold about five to ten individuals comfortably ... though Ianto was fairly certain they weren't being held for their comfort. For all that the exterior had appeared like a castle, the interior was remarkably Torchwood One sterile. White walls, no bars but judging from the interior walls, an electronic shield held the cell's occupants. But those shields were down now, thanks to Stephen and Jean-Luc, Ianto assumed.

There were people of all ages crowding the spaces outside of the cells, far more than what Ianto estimated the cells would hold. Some children, some adults, all eager to be as far away as possible from the cells which had held them for an indeterminable time. Ianto recognized most of them from either his time spent at Avalon or from pictures -- even little Rani was there, taken during the raid of Avalon. His eyes quickly skimmed the crowd, tallying no less than one hundred. From the sounds across the hall, more were located in there as well.

"Ianto!" A Russian-tinged squeal was the only warning Ianto had before a slim, white-blonde figure launched herself at him. He caught Lana easily, feeling a bit awkward as he had nowhere to put the hand gun, which hadn't left his hand since they'd entered the building, other than to semi-rest it against her back, the rifle remaining at his side. Violence had no place in this room and the weapons seemed a taint to the otherwise ecstatic Lana. They were drawing attention, people turning and whispering their recognition. After speaking with Stephen so many months ago, Ianto knew what it was in part, the whispering and recognition. He was a friend of Jean-Luc's, that made him important as a by-product.

There were so many. How long had they been trapped here, held against their will?

"My hero."

To his shock, Lana kissed him ... not the first time that'd ever happened as she grew more and more affectionate as the nights wore on at her club, but more from her statement. Ianto couldn't help himself. He grinned with the sheer relief and joy of months of searching. They weren't out yet, but god, Avalon had been found. Unwilling to accept any credit for what had been a joint effort, as well as just to be an imp, Ianto smirked and pointed to Tosh who was still standing beside him, searching the crowd for Akira. "Tosh is the one you should be thanking, she located this place."

Tosh's squeak of surprise, muffled quickly by Lana who had transplanted herself from Ianto to Tosh without blinking, was well worth the amusement. Lana bestowed the same praise and "thanks" on Tosh, of which Tosh was most deserving, but given he was her boss and while a chaste kiss of thanks wasn't completely improper, Lana's thanks would definitely be considered harassment.

Ianto used the distraction, nodding in passing to everyone who was coming up to him to thank him and ask about a friend or relative or teacher, to work his way through the room, looking for Stephen or Jean-Luc to try to coordinate how they were going to transfer everyone out of Torchwood Four. They really hadn't planned for mass transport. He gave up, finally touching the com link in his ear. "Stephen, Jean-Luc, report."

"We're in the hallway."

He started working his way towards the door, pausing when he spotted a small boy alone and in tears. Ianto sheathed his gun and squatted down to the boy's height, recognizing him from the files that Stephen, Jean-Luc, and he had started rebuilding. Guardian-protected, Grade 4 telepath. His parents had called in frantic to Avalon's emergency number that Ianto had routed to his phone, reporting the boy missing, his Guardian dead. "Hallo, Nicholas. Mein Name ist Ianto und ich kenne deine Eltern, Erich und Katherine. Sie sind sicher." At this, the dam seemed to break (did no one know German?) and Nicholas began firing questions in rapid German about his family, about his Guardian, about Avalon, about when they were going to go home, and informing Ianto that he was hungry. Ianto answered patiently, smiling when Nicholas got to the hungry portion of his inquiry. "Sobald wie moeglich, Nicholas." Ianto looked up and motioned to the first person he made eye contact with. Malcolm Rivers, graduated from Avalon six years ago. "Bleib bei Malcolm, ja?" Ianto gave Nicholas a quick hug, then handed him over to Malcolm, instructing the telekinetic (Grade 3, if Ianto remembered correctly) not to let the boy out of his sight.

Reassured (and thanked, again), Ianto made his way out into the hall where he found Stephen, Jean-Luc, and Tosh with a serene Akira standing at her side. Ianto greeted Akira with a smile, then asked the group, "Where do we stand?"

"I'd say a hallway in the west corridor of Torchwood--"

Ianto silenced Jean-Luc with a glare, looking to Stephen for a more accurate, less inane answer.

"There were three rooms; from what we've been told, this is everyone." Stephen pointed to the room behind him, two doors down from the room Ianto had first walked into. "Rough head-count totaled three hundred and thirty."

"Three-thirty?" Ianto frowned, knowing Avalon hadn't held quite two hundred, including staff, but when the Guardian-protected were added, the graduates and those who Avalon never discovered, Ianto realized that the number was quite reasonable, if not low. "How many hostiles did you encounter?"

"We ran into two. First one shot at us before we could ask any questions; we didn't hesitate with the next." Stephen glanced around warily. Ianto agreed; they weren't safe yet. "So we know they're Torchwood?"

"Yes," Ianto confirmed, distracted for a moment by Rani who had entered the hallway, tugging at his coat. He smiled at her and put a hand on her shoulder in comfort. "How are we going to move three hundred and thirty people?"

"Already started." Ianto raised an eyebrow in question at Jean-Luc, growing a bit impatient as Rani continued to tap his side and pull at his jacket. He adored kids, but he really needed to get the situation under control and the kids out of the threatening situation; he'd have a moment with Rani once that was done. "Six telekinetics are able and strong enough to teleport objects -- people in this case. We've been sending kids in groups the TKs can handle to Avalon. They'll tire eventually, but should get the bulk of them out of here. Four teachers are driving back in vans to help move the remaining."

"Why didn't they teleport out of their cells?" asked Tosh, voicing the question Ianto had been wondering as well though hearing the word "teleport" in her voice was something he hadn't ever figured he'd hear. There had been hundreds of gifted kids and adults, surely one of them would have been able to take down the force fields keeping them in the cells or moved out, even if they were trapped in the time dilation field surrounding Torchwood Four.

"Psi-dampeners. The cells were lined with them, prevented them from escaping." Stephen gestured to Akira and Rani. "About six days have passed, according to the first who were captured. Most have been here far less. They haven't had much time to plan an escape."

Ianto's brain bent around the thought of months of worry, well over a year since the kidnappings had first began. And yet for those trapped inside, only six days had passed since the start of it. That had to be why the Torchwood Four members had looked so close to their pictures on file -- time was completely warped here. Rani finally jerked hard enough on his jacket to draw Ianto's full attention and after passing the rifle off to Jean-Luc, he bent to her eye level and looked into a face far too old for her age. "Rani?"

"There's another, down there." Ianto followed her finger down the hall to a stairwell at the far end. "He made them angry so they wouldn't hurt us and they hurt him instead. They made me heal him." Rani was crying now, not that Ianto could blame her. He made a mental note to locate a few trained psychologists, no matter how much he mocked their efforts, for the survivors. The kids had all suffered trauma, even the adults, and he would be fool to think they could easily put it behind them. He brushed away her tears with his thumb, cursing Stephen and the clothing as Ianto had a handkerchief in his suit trousers. She raised her chin stubbornly, and Ianto had to smile at the bravery of these children. Little heroes, all of them. "We can't leave him. I know him."

"I'll find him, don't you worry." Ianto gave her cheek one last pat and straightened, eyeing the other adults who were watching. "Stay here and guard the rooms." Ianto raised his hand to stem off their protests. "Stephen, you're coordinating the exit. Jean-Luc needs to monitor the TKs -- don't let them overextend themselves -- and Tosh, you're not leaving your charge." He drew his sidearm again, grimly acknowledging that the rescue wasn't over and neither was the danger. "Rani, I'd like you to stay with Stephen, okay?" If what Rani had said was true, the one held hostage below might need medical assistance and Ianto refused to lose any additional people to Torchwood Four. Stephen, for all he (and Ianto) lacked in telepathy, understood Ianto's line of thought and casually agreed to Ianto's unspoken request. They might need her, as much as it pained Ianto to keep her there and to have her face the same horrors which had her in tears.

They weren't losing anyone else.

***

Ianto carefully picked his way down the stairs and to the next floor; only the one, which made his search easier. He hadn't thought to ask Rani just how down" he needed to go to find the remaining individual until he was actually on the stairs, but he had no other options once he reached the foot. Gun raised, he snuck past the door and entered a long hall, dimly lit unlike the two floors above. Truly a basement for all the modern interior architecture, though the presence of two floors underground did make Ianto wonder about the time dilation field and if it extended as a bubble encapsulating Torchwood Four. The first door revealed nothing more than an empty lab, experiments, and tests in progress from the various vials and beakers. Remembering that Torchwood Four focused primarily on alien biology, he wasn't surprised. The second and third rooms held more of the same: automated equipment running without personnel, machines whirring and clicking. He almost tapped his com to tell Tosh to go back to the Communications room and see what kind of information she could pull from the computers, but he knew the children were more important and her protection couldn't be wasted.

What the fourth room held made him pause and reconsider that notion.

The room was exceedingly warm, making Ianto sweat uncomfortably in his leather clothes. He cautiously entered, knowing of all places this would be one that perhaps would be guarded most, but saw no one. There were eggs, about fifty, beneath sunlamps on long tables; deformed, pale creatures sat in jars on the cabinets lining the walls of the room. It reminded Ianto of photographs he'd seen of Nazi scientists' experiments, or the horrors which had resulted from Chernobyl, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, captured forever in sealed jars. His stomach rolled and he tried hard not to focus on the jars, tried hard not to remember the pale claws and wings, but somewhere deep inside he noted another addition to his nightmares. What they had done ... what they were doing ... Ianto's mind rebelled at the thought, protesting with every fiber that Torchwood would never do anything of the sort, but evidence was in this room in disgusting, preserved displays like a two-headed sheep fetus as part of a freak show.

Ianto focused his attention on the eggs, tapping one of them which sounded as hard as it looked. He was tempted to break one open, just to see what was inside, but his eyes drifted to the walls again and he swallowed the bile rising to his throat.

Enormous omelets.

God, he almost wept.

Motion had him swinging his gun to his right, unnerved by the room and shaken when he found no one next to him but larger jars, filled to the brim with an orange-ish liquid and more snow-white deformities floating within. He'd blame the faeries for the movement, but he didn't think even they could stomach it in here, children as they once were, the sights of this room haunting even his adult mind. He felt like Gwen, and he chided himself repeatedly for the revulsion and the small voice inside him pleading to understand why. But he realized slowly it wasn't a question of why people would act this way. It was more a question of why _Torchwood_. He couldn't believe his mother, much less Ms. White, would condone such activity. He couldn't--

He didn't miss it this time. Ianto's jaw dropped as his mind rebelled against what he saw.

The fucking thing had _blinked_.

Ianto stumbled over himself as he scrambled for the door, gun raised at the pale creature immersed in orange liquid, enormous eyes (black? Or discolored by the liquid?) staring back at him, watching with its beak-shaped mouth and wings and ... god. It blinked again. Ianto couldn't shoot, not for all the bravado he'd felt earlier or the instinctive recoil he just _couldn't_ , and he wasn't sure if it was a subconscious desire not to attract attention or some ... hex ... by the creature in the jar. Creatures. There were creatures all around him and he was pretty sure the ominous drip of oily shadow wiggling its way into his mind wasn't his imagination. They weren't deformed mistakes of experiments. They were living. The eggs ... fuck. They were waiting to be born.

He slammed the door shut, praying to whatever deity was listening that Rani had not seen this room. God, he hoped not. Leaning against the door, Ianto tried to will his breath back to normal, feeling childish for his fear but knowing that whatever those _things_ were, he had every right to experience the adrenaline rush at the discovery that they were _alive_ and that there was something off, something malevolent and threatening about them. He rested a moment, then gathered himself, knowing he had a purpose to attend to. Whatever was going on at Torchwood Four would have to wait until later when he could catalogue the images and decipher what he had seen.

Thoughts and memory firmly shoved into a dark corner of his mind. Ianto focused, straightening from the wall to continue his search of the level. There were more laboratories; he didn't venture inside. As Mr. Black he knew he should, but Ianto just couldn't make himself look. Owen would call him a coward and worse, but Ianto couldn't bring himself to care. Owen wasn't with him, seeing what Ianto saw. For all Ianto cared, Owen could go fuck himself.

And of course, the rational, logical portion of his mind questioned his sanity as Owen was most certainly not present and Ianto's defense was really against his own doubts, which he'd apparently began to call "Owen."

Pathetic, really. But maybe he could shoot that nagging "Owen" in his downtime when the real Owen had been a right pain in the arse and Ianto couldn't shoot him without probable cause.

Ianto finally reached a door which looked unlike any door he'd passed: solid reinforced steel with a keypad lock. After what he had witnessed in the other room he was almost scared (not scared, wary) of what he would find inside, tucked away under such protection. But it was the only promising option -- he'd have to start investigating all the other laboratories if this one failed to hold the man he was looking for. He recognized the keypad, it wasn't like the ones that secured Torchwood Four's entrance, so he strongly doubted that his master code would work. However, it was rather antiquated technology, a security device used ten years ago. He quickly had the keypad's internal guts hanging out, the wires spilling haphazardly from the wall as he crossed and reconnected the keypad, wincing when a few touches (what he wouldn't give for a proper toolkit and not his fingers) shot sparks. But he heard the soft hiss as the door released and he gave a silent thanks to his (deceased) instructor at Torchwood One who had spent hours training him and a few others how to disarm all the known electronic locks up to then-present day.

Gun ready, Ianto took a deep breath to calm and prepare himself for whatever was inside. He heard one voice taunting someone else, and he heard a soft grunt of pain. Right room, this time, and hopefully no jars filled with a dark amber liquid. He took another deep breath, then crept into the room, quickly assessing the layout and scanning for the people he knew the room contained. He wasn't disappointed. The room was just as large as the other rooms, lined with shelf after shelf filled to the brim with cardboard boxes with a letter code Ianto recognized from both Torchwood One and, now, Torchwood Three.

The Archives. He was in Torchwood Four's Archives.

He was a bit in awe of the sheer amount of ~~organization~~ volume of the Archive's contents. Truth be told, he lusted a bit after the massive (clean) space with its sturdy shelves to the ceiling and row after row of cabinets. Torchwood Three's Archives were archaic and damp -- Ianto had installed a dehumidifier to ensure preservation of some of the more sensitive documents but it was much as the rest of the Hub: hallows etched out of solid stone, cavernous and damp, and smelling of sea. The shelves were situated wherever the stone allowed. Ianto had taken to installing racks to support the contents of their Archives as he sorted; it was easier than attempting to drill into stone. The sheer mass of information stored in this Archive ... it rivaled Torchwood One's which had been destroyed in the Battle.

It made Ianto a little envious of the bastards who worked at Torchwood Four.

The voice caught his attention again, to the left in the Archives, the only side of the room not filled to bursting with alien information and technology. His entrance hadn't been noticed, the voice still taunted. When Ianto peered around the edge of a shelf, he saw why. One figure he recognized from the Torchwood Four's files, Geoffrey Stathom, biotech and apparently expert torturer. The other was strung from the far white wall speckled in blood, secured by cuffs and chains while he hung, feet just barely touching the ground.

Incomprehensible rage coursed through Ianto as he struggled to maintain control, hands visibly shaking as he fought the urge to kill the Torchwood Four employee. Few times he had felt angry enough to harm, much less murder -- sure he felt anger and sometimes wished harm on an individual, but rarely was he swept away with the desire to hear the cries of another as he dealt blow after mindless blow, battering the life away with his fists until the last plea had been plead, the last breath taken from red-stained lips as the pulped and bloody mass gave up its cling to life.

Ianto's thoughts frightened him, knowing how close in angry destruction he was to those who had destroyed Avalon and killed Ms. White, and he refused to sink to their level of hate.

Though he was ever so close.

Instead, he calmly spoke, voice flat and devoid of any emotion. "Touch him again, and I will show you no mercy."

Geoffrey was so startled he dropped whatever device it was that he had been using. The figure, slumped with pain and defeat, chained to the wall as he most certainly had been since he had arrived, slowly raised his head, eyes meeting Ianto's.

Jack.

 _Jack_.

Ianto never wavered as his eyes drifted over Jack's body: trousers hanging from too narrow hips, a figure far more slender than he had been when he'd left them months before. His torso was mottled with bruises of varying shades, blood paths streaking through sweat and grime. In that moment, Ianto forgot everything, forgot the hate and anger at Jack, and instead, took pity on the man who, while he deserved a sound yelling, did not deserve this -- did not deserve the dark, dried tracks down his arms from the cuffs digging into the tender skin of the wrists, the swollen lips, or the blackened eye. How long he had been there, Ianto wasn't certain. But if this was how he looked after Rani had healed him, though how long ago that had been, or over how many occurrences ...well, his dispute with Jack could wait another lifetime. Now, he wanted nothing more than to take the man to his flat and soak away the worst of the injury and tend to him until he was the smirking, laughing Jack that Ianto remembered.

He didn't think he'd ever find Jack bound erotic again.

Drawing a slow, steady breath, Ianto realized that no noticeable time had passed. Geoffrey was just starting to move in a crawling rush towards Ianto, his shout of alarm slowed to a low-pitched growl. Ianto wondered, calmly, with time blurring around him as if the device governing the facility, thwarting regular space/time, was faltering, but Ianto rationalized as millions of thoughts flew threw his mind. Noting everything from the brackets and bolts used in the shelves to the buckles in the leather and metal cuffs repelling even Jack's most valiant attempts at escape. He'd never experienced anything like this before, not to this extreme, not in any response to the dangers he'd experienced or the stressful situations. He'd read of it happening, could quote the trauma books he'd read in his own quest to understand himself, but he'd never understood.

An entire lifetime in a breath.

He barely moved, his actions relaxed and slow in comparison to the algorithms and processes running through his mind, calculating and figuring the maths of everything from the volume of air in the room to the dimensions and properties of the time field and the sheer power of the device required to maintain the function. Ianto couldn't tell if Jack's mind was following his in the rampant cascade of thought and memory, but when their eyes met, Ianto found them to be the only other relatively active objects in the room. Geoffrey was slowly moving towards him, but all Ianto registered were Jack's eyes, haunted and relieved, sky blue widening in alarm as they flickered to the left (Ianto's right) and back to Ianto's steady gaze. Ianto was unconcerned; he'd already calculated velocity and angles and even factored room temperature and the slight air current from the cooling unit, negligible as they were into the overall equation.

Ianto moved his arm and pulled the trigger, eyes never leaving Jack's as, without hesitation, he discharged his weapon once.

God, it was _Jack_.

Geoffrey's body hadn't hit the floor before Ianto was moving forward with confidence, time rushing to catch up to regular speed. With a rather sloppy collapse, Geoffrey struck the floor. Ianto knew without needing to look that his single shot had struck the target intended; the range from which it was fired left a relatively small hole in the center of the man's forehead in comparison to the rather large exit wound.

Ianto would care, but he had warned the man and he'd chosen to charge.

Add it to the horrors Ianto would remember from the day.

He approached Jack, calm despite the elation and single phrase coursing through his mind _JackJackJackJackJackJackJack_ while a voice squawked in his ear. Stephen, he absently noted, and Ianto responded with an "all clear." He had found the one he'd been looking for. At least Ianto thought he said that; he might have spoken Pig Latin for all he was cognizant of, solely focused on freeing the half-naked figure in front of him.

Jack was speaking; Ianto wasn't really listening as he concentrated on the first cuff restraining Jack, securing him to the wall to experience whatever obscene delights fancied by the now-dead Geoffrey or any others at Torchwood Four. He nearly had the first buckle undone, the weight of Jack plus the stiffness of the hide proving a challenge even with Ianto's determined actions, when a slim, drawn mark on Jack's underarm caught his attention.

Scowling, Ianto forgot about his previous focus and instead a steady finger traced the raised line, curved and pale at its peak, reddened at the edges where it merged smooth into tanned skin. His mind attempted to process what he saw, but the mark didn't compute. Aged with time, years, old and earned by means unknown to Ianto, but certainly not earned at Torchwood Four. Ianto followed the skin, ignoring the bruises and shallow cuts instead hunting each distortion in the skin, finding others scattered over the surface; a small circle -- a puncture wound -- above Jack's navel, a jagged mark over his left hip, a thin, fine line near his heart.

Ianto found he couldn't breathe.

 _Scars_.

The click of the hammer of a gun was a punch in the gut, expelling air from frozen lungs. Ianto turned slowly from Jack, arms held in surrender out from his body, silently acknowledging the Christ-like pose he struck, but at the same time refusing to drop the handgun from the one hand despite the danger.

 _ScarsScarsScarsScarsScarsScars_.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Ianto could feel Jack's hot breath on the back of his neck, distracting him momentarily from the strange man in front of them, weapon brandished and looking angry enough to kill. He flipped through his mental picture book of Torchwood Four employees and located him: Joseph Kramer, geneticist. Burly man with a scraggly beard and looking like he'd spent far too long in the depths of Torchwood than was good for mental health. Possibly true.

After what he had seen earlier, Ianto immediately disliked the man.

Straightening to his full height, Ianto refrained from saying who exactly he was, knowing they had given Ms. White no quarter when attacking Avalon. He felt loathe to reveal who he was at all, despite the gun directed at him. "Orders to inspect the Archives, Mr. Kramer. Found them contrary to code. I'll have to report your infraction."

"To whom?" Joseph laughed like he had just said the funniest thing in the world; it only fueled Ianto's rage back to a slow burn. He had no doubt that this man had been involved in the destruction of Avalon. "I have it on excellent authority that Torchwood Headquarters is no more. Now stand aside and allow me to rid ourselves of this thing's presence."

Thing? It took a moment before comprehension dawned. Jack? Ianto didn't move, in fact, holding his position more solidly now that he knew for certain Joseph's intent. "No," Ianto stated simply, taking into account the position of the man's gun and how long it would take himself to orient his firearm on the man threatening to kill Jack.

No matter how he calculated, it all equaled too long.

"Alien sympathizer." Joseph glanced at the body of his fallen comrade as though for the first time and spat the term, making it sound derogatory and degrading, though Ianto was confused. Jack was no alien and Avalon and the children most certainly weren't. "You're all alike, mollycoddling and protecting these _freaks_ in Avalon who don't belong here. You'll get yours. You have no idea what's coming." The man leered and Ianto found it most disturbing, though whether it was the statement or the deranged man holding the gun doing his best impression of the Cheshire cat, Ianto wasn't sure.

Shaking off his initial fear, Ianto asked questions, both delaying and searching for information, despite knowing nothing of what the man was referring to. "When are they arriving?"

Another leer. "They're already here."

"And you're protected from what's coming?" Ianto chose the safest question out of all he had, not sure if Kramer was referring to an Abaddon-apocalypse or a giant herd of space cattle, all the time curious if he could scratch his ear and trigger his com without Joseph shooting him. Improbable.

"Of course. We will be spared." The words came as a vow, almost religious, and it chilled Ianto to the core. "So might you, if you step away from the freak. I'll speak on your behalf, tell them you were under one of those alien spells. Controlling your mind, see. You're Torchwood, you fight against aliens."

"You're Torchwood as well. I'm sure you're familiar with the Charter." Ianto stepped forward, positioning himself further in front of Jack and offering more cover. "Section One, Line Ten: 'And by so committing, secure the life and liberties of the Peoples of Britain.' I can cite it in entirety, if you're in need of a refresher of your duties, _Mr. Kramer_. Captain Harkness here is a citizen of Cardiff, welcomed by the Queen herself to his responsibilities as leader of Torchwood Three. The children you hold hostage are primarily citizens of Britain as well. You commit treason sanctionable by Code 43.2a in any responsibility for death of a British citizen. Do you need me to start listing the deaths at Avalon? Ms. White, Secretary of Research and Resource Allocation, commissioned by Her Majesty to govern Torchwood and Avalon. Simone Archer, former receptionist of Torchwood One, transferred to--"

"Enough!" Joseph shouted as he backed away, even as Ianto advanced, growing bolder with every step he pushed Joseph away from Jack. The other man's gun waved as he emphasized his point and that was all the opening Ianto needed, whipping his gun to the front and firing a fraction of a second before Joseph. Ianto's aim was true, Joseph's body fell near the other crumbled on the floor. Joseph's was not, though unfortunately Ianto felt its fire spread through his belly rather than his head as had been the original aim.

Nasty habit, stepping between innocents and guns. Although this time, the innocent was not so innocent and the bullet not as immediately lethal.

Mortal all the same, Ianto noted as he spun back towards Jack, fixated on the bright red blood staining his hands. Blood on his hands. Literally. He'd killed two today, all technically employees of his. He seemed to have a penchant for shooting employees. Not exactly the makings of a good boss.

Maybe Stephen would step in, become Mr. Grey. Or Mr. Salt-And-Pepper, color of his hair.

God, he was ruining Stephen's clothes. He was going to be irate.

Ianto grinned rather comically as he lurched forward, never forgetting his responsibility to free the man held hostage in the lower level. He had decreed the order himself; if he didn't follow his own orders, why would anyone else? The clasp was slippery beneath his fingers. Ianto struggled to manage with just one hand where two before had failed, but he couldn't pull his hand away from his stomach. Placebo, really. No measurable effect, but it gave him confidence that time wasn't slipping away faster than he could replace it with determined energy.

Twice he'd been shot. Thrown around once.

Too bad Jack couldn't kiss him back to life this once.

 _No scars_.

He felt the buckle give in time with his knees, fumbling forward with an apology to Jack before sliding to the floor. There was a curse above him and the legs which had been supporting him twisted away.

The floor was far more comfortable, at any rate, though he pitied the person who had to remove the blood stains from the floor. Archives were no place for blood, attracted vermin.

An annoying tapping at his face brought his focus forward, blurred gaze finding sky blue. The irony was not lost on Ianto; he thought last time it was pale blue. Odd how blue and his death were so interconnected. "Jack."

"Stay with me." Ianto felt Jack tug at his ear. Funny, Jack being so playful at a time like this. He would have batted away Jack's hand, but he really didn't have the energy. He heard Jack shout, what Ianto couldn't quite make out, something about raining but it wasn't raining they were in the Archives and he was really too busy concentrating on the raised mark just above Jack's hip.

"Jack ... pretend ..."

Jack's face grew large as he leaned close -- he could see Jack's bruised eye clearly at the distance and Ianto could feel him pressing against the wound in his belly but there was no pressure that could fix a broken dam. "Pretend what?"

"That you're real." Ianto's voice came out far more slurred than he'd intended, fear suddenly washing over him in the sudden need for some familiarity. He moved, slowly, but steadily enough to touch the thin ridge on Jack's chest, just above his heart. It was wrong, just as this Jack was wrong.

 _Scars_.

Jack didn't speak, and for a moment Ianto was ninety percent certain he'd left him alone to die on the Archive floor (how appropriate, Ianto deemed, though he'd rather be clutching a large tome, rather like the knights of old clutching their sword), but then the words rang in his ear, a voice Ianto had heard whisper nonsense as he neared sleep. "What's your name?"

Ianto laughed at the innocent question, at least, he thought he did. Turned more into a cough which shook the last vestiges of hope from him. Tumbling down a sand embankment, clutching at the sides which dissolved away and left no purchase to stop his slide into the darkened void, he focused on Jack's hands, feeling so warm against his chilled skin. "Ianto. Ianto Jones."

"I'm very real, Ianto Jones." The words felt real, even though Ianto knew them to be false. But he could pretend, just as this Jack was pretending. He wanted to pretend, had wanted to pretend ever since, well, ever since he'd first met Jack. His Jack. Not this one, marked. His Jack didn't scar.

"I love you, Ianto."

Ianto smiled.

***

Ianto woke viciously, a racking cough tearing through him as if to expunge stale air and distant memory of his lungs' failure to rise. Hands supported him as he spat dark phlegm on the floor, the pressure on his chest abating once he was quite certain he'd coughed up all of his lungs and his stomach lining, too.

"I could have lived without seeing that. Ow! It's true."

Peering through eyes still tearing in response to his lungs' protests at functioning again, Ianto watched as Jean-Luc's face swam into focus. Standing next to him were Stephen, Tosh, and a rather wide-eyed Akira. Ianto could sympathize; he was rather wide-eyed himself.

And horribly exhausted. And freezing, though there was warmth pressed against his back.

"He's lost a lot of blood. I did what I could to help make him make it faster, but he couldn't be pushed much."

"You work miracles, kiddo." Ianto felt the warm wall behind him vibrate with the spoken words and he realized he was propped up against someone. God, he recognized the voice.

Jack.

 _Jack_.

But not his Jack. He remembered that. Fuck, he was so confused.

"We should leave. There might be more still in the building. Jack ... it's good to see you."

Ianto refrained from pointing out to Tosh that he wasn't _their_ Jack, but he couldn't remember why he wanted to say it or how he knew. His thoughts were still tumbling over themselves, loosely, flowing, like waves over a trickling mountain brook from beneath an ice sheet. He knew, eventually, he'd hit that river when hopefully everything made sense but until then, he settled for trickles and hints.

Had he been this slow to recover before?

Rani. She'd sounded so tired. Rani had said something about blood loss. The first time, there hadn't been much blood, not if his shirt had been anything to go by. Rani had treated him immediately. This time ...

Fuck. Had Jack said what Ianto thought he did?

Not his Jack.

Ianto felt himself pulled upright, supported by Stephen and Jean-Luc. Even Tosh was in on it, if only to give him a hug and a peck on his cheek. She backed away just as quickly as she'd darted in, gesturing to Jack. "Can you ...? I'm sure he'd appreciate it if it were you ..."

Whatever her lack of words meant, Jack understood and stepped in to secure Ianto's upright position. Not that Ianto believed it to be out of any familiar concern. He distinctly remembered asking Jack to pretend. And pretend he had.

He didn't complain though, leaning his head on the shoulder of the man who felt very much like Jack but was not Jack. He was _wrong_.

It hit him, finally, as the group made their way (slowly) up the stairs and through the halls towards the entrance of the building (nothing like being obvious). _Scars_. His Jack didn't scar. His Jack was immortal, had died multiple times with never a mark on his body.

Never a mark on his body to begin with.

Ianto knew that body. He knew every curve and every line. There were no scars.

There were scars on this man.

Older? Ianto dismissed the idea as quickly as it entered his mind. Jack didn't scar. The immortal, undying quality that kept him going despite gunshot wounds and alien attacks, it had changed him. Unmarked him. Healed him inside and out -- Ianto knew that body, there wasn't a mark on him. Not to mention, he had asked Ianto's name. He didn't know Ianto. So then, a younger version of Jack? A possibility, Ianto hazily concluded as his steps grew stronger the more they walked (limped) towards the entrance. Right when the team needed him most, they get a younger Jack. But how young? Destroy a kingdom young? He looked remarkably the same, now that Ianto was up close and could see ever pore in the man's skin. Less edge.

Maybe more edge. Ianto remembered what Jack had said about his past.

 _"I'm not from this time." Jack ran a hand through his hair, a move Ianto rarely saw. Frustration? Anger? Jack should be furious and instead he appeared ... frustrated. "There once was a time when I really was not a nice person."_

Which Jack had they received?

When was this Jack?

"I know you're not Jack," Ianto whispered against the man's neck, feeling him stiffen beneath him. What was he doing, playing along? What did he want out of it? And why was Ianto allowing it? He should tell Tosh, warn everyone. This wasn't Jack, not as they knew him.

Who was he kidding? The team needed Jack, they had been waiting with bated breath for his return since the moment he'd left. They needed Jack back as they knew him. And hearing the voice of Joseph echo in his mind, Ianto knew that now was not the time to send Jack away. Not if something was coming. Ianto continued, tightening his grip around Jack's bare waist, registering the hiss of pain and vaguely remembering that Jack was injured as well. "Keep pretending, I have a proposition for you."

Jack smirked, as confident a smirk as Ianto remembered, the confidence of a man never turned down, a man who exuded sexuality through his skin, but it felt so off on this face, knowing to the core, Jack was not Jack.

But he had saved the kids, Rani had said. Made the hostage takers angry so they'd take it out on him, not the kids.

Reflecting on Jack in the different light, Ianto wondered how much of this Jack was different from the one he knew.

Maybe it wasn't such a wrong choice after all, pretending . It was almost like having Jack back. "He never said that," Ianto started, continuing the soft conversation so the others wouldn't hear, receiving a questioning look from Jack in response. "He didn't love me," Ianto clarified, tucking that little pain away from the man Jack himself had said was not a nice person. There was no reason to give him anything more to exploit.

"You wanted him to."

Ianto didn't respond, unwilling to give anything away to the other man appearing deceptively like the one he both hated and maybe loved. Didn't matter, now. It was as unimportant as the fact that this wasn't Jack. For all intents and purposes, things were back to normal. Instead, Ianto pulled away from Jack, feeling more steady as they reached the outdoors and the small group that remained -- mostly older graduates as the children had been the first to be evacuated. He knew they were waiting for teachers to arrive, four of them, in vans to ferry the remaining back to Avalon. Ianto had no concept of how much time had passed, but he reckoned they had to be arriving shortly. He didn't wish to linger any longer than they had to outside the walls, not knowing who or where the enemy was.

Enemy.

Something was coming, so Joseph said. Something was here. Something.

Ianto felt pieces of memory slam into place, causing him to stumble, but Jack was there to keep him upright. He didn't want to be touched, not by Jack, but at the same time the body _was_ Jack, and he would be lying to himself if he didn't feel the same stirring of desire pressed against this Jack as he was with his Jack ... even though his Jack didn't care for him any more than this one pretended. Fuck, sometimes he hated himself.

Laboratory. Ianto's thoughts jumped back to his earlier thoughts, plucking moments from throughout the evening, remembering. The labs. Joseph. Aliens. Freaks.

Terror and nausea fought for victory as Ianto stared at Torchwood Four.

Pulling away from Jack once more, Ianto gathered what little strength he felt returning and centered it, knowing he had one shot at this. He fostered a healthy dose of anger and resentment, directing it at his unsuspecting target involved in conversation with Tosh and her cousin.

Jean-Luc didn't even have time to look surprised when Ianto hit him square in the jaw, sending his friend tumbling backwards, one hand to his jaw and the other held up defensively. "The fuck? Ianto? What the hell?"

"You lying bastard." Ianto put as much venom into his words as he could, not needing to search too far as he remembered his earlier encounters with Geoffrey and Joseph. "You claimed you were my friend." Ianto threw another punch which Jean-Luc dodged, his reaction quicker now that he knew he had something to be concerned with. That didn't stop Ianto, driving a counter into Jean-Luc's stomach to knock the wind from him, knowing his hits were more weak than strong, but he was counting on their friendship to hold up; otherwise, a physical fight against Jean-Luc was destined to be a quickly lost battle. "From the start, you used me. Wanted information." Ianto sneered, shaking off the hands that tried to hold him back. He wormed away, landing a few more hits, but he felt himself tiring rapidly. It wouldn't be long before he passed out and the efforts lost. "That's all I was, a game. A bet to win. Wasn't I?"

"No!" Ianto ignored Jean-Luc, weakly swinging but never ceasing his attack as Jean-Luc kept protesting, "Fuck, no. Yes, maybe at first, but not ... Ianto! You're going to hurt yourself. Stop!"

At Jean-Luc's command, Ianto felt his fist freeze, but it wasn't through control of his own. It trembled in defiance, but remained still, a scant hair's width from Jean-Luc's face.

Ianto smirked.

Realizing belatedly what had happened, Jean-Luc's face broke into a grin, hands reaching out to support Ianto instead of defending himself.

Ianto shook his head, pointing at Torchwood Four. "Good. Now, destroy it."

"What?" Jean-Luc's bewilderment mirrored the moment Ianto had first hit him. Ianto really didn't have the patience to explain.

"Ianto, we should leave it be. We can come back." Tosh held up the device ("Time Mime") still maintaining their synchronized time. She looked at Stephen for confirmation, Ianto noted that he was being jumped as far as leadership, and fuck if that wouldn't amuse him on any other day. But not that night. Not after what he'd witnessed.

"No. Destroy it," Ianto all but growled at Jean-Luc, purposefully freeing the memories of what he'd seen, what he'd heard, and stared _hard_ at his friend, willing him to look, to see what he had seen, enormous dark eyes blinking and a foreboding slink of darkness tapping at his consciousness. The long-forgotten tickle crept across his mind and Ianto watched as Jean-Luc's face blanched, more pale than Ianto had ever seen. He nodded, stepping aside to concentrate.

He had only seen the true power of his friend once before, a long time ago when Ianto had almost lost his life (an all-too-familiar experience, of late). It had been both frightening and awe-inspiring, watching two speeding cars collide and topple over each other, others swerving to avoid and all aimed directly at him, standing innocently on the pavement, ice cream dripping on his hand. The rolling cars suddenly leaped over his head, landing upright on the street beside him. The screeching tires of those swerving to avoid the accident and inadvertently contributing bounced harmlessly off an invisible hand a meter away from Ianto. Close enough for him to smell the burnt rubber, but leaving him unharmed.

Ianto also remembered fainting dead away after the last car stopped. He was a kid; he assumed such a response was only appropriate.

That had been years ago, before Jean-Luc had been properly trained, before he had fully matured.

He watched Jean-Luc only for a moment. His friend's fists were held out slightly in front, his gaze focused beyond the building, seeing what, Ianto wasn't sure. Ianto quit watching once the ground began to tremble and turned his focus on the building. He felt someone come up behind him, knew without doubt it was Jack but leaned back against him anyway, weary from his mock-fight with Jean-Luc.

"They're breeding an army," Ianto murmured, though it must have been audible enough given Tosh's gasp and Stephen's curse. Jack didn't say anything, but Ianto could feel his presence remaining resolute behind him. Not Jack. But had apparently seen enough to wish the building destroyed. Or experienced. Ianto couldn't blame him for that.

The foundation of the building began to quake, cracks splintering up the sides like fine glass despite the stone exterior. Ianto heard Jack curse in amazement (in an alien tongue, but Ianto recognized the tone) and knew he was reacting to Jean-Luc's gift.

It was something to be rather in awe of.

Torchwood Four began to sink upon itself. Ianto assumed Jean-Luc had shattered the basement levels after pulling what he had from Ianto (creatures that blink). Ianto's only concern was the device maintaining the time differential. He had done the calculations earlier and knew how powerful a device that would have to be. He wasn't mistaken, seeing the castle walls bulge from the force of the explosion, but the force never hit those watching. Instead the flames shot upwards, pouring fire and fury into the night sky as the entire structure collapsed inward and settled into a deep pit of burning ruin.

Jack let out a low whistle as those around him cheered the destruction. Ianto didn't consider the irony of his anger watching Avalon burn and the revenge by doing the same to Torchwood Four. It wasn't revenge, not really. The place was empty (Ianto hoped, but he wasn't going to think too hard on it, not after what they'd done), the victims already dead (save for the strange creatures and the eggs). Ianto pointed to Jean-Luc, hoping that someone would move because he certainly couldn't, "Someone might wanna ... "

As Jean-Luc fell to the ground, spent, Tosh and Stephen were there to catch him.

Ianto didn't lean any more than he had to on Jack, feeling as weak as Jean-Luc but not really having an excuse other than being mostly dead for a short time. Or nearly dead. He wasn't quite sure which.

The vans arrived, pulling up to a sunken, blackened pit and a small gathering of missing and lost, and one wrong for the time but so right for the moment.

As Jack helped him to one of the vehicles, Ianto couldn't bring himself to care about the difference.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German - I'm out of practice and only had formal taught, not every day. But, roughly translated...
> 
> Hallo, Nicholas. Mein Name ist Ianto und ich kenne deine Eltern, Erich und Katherine. Sie sind sicher. - Hello, Nicholas. My name is Ianto and I know your parents, Erich and Katherine. They are safe.  
> Sobald wie moeglich - As soon as possible  
> Bleib bei Malcolm - Stay with Malcolm


	3. Navy Blue with Colbalt Pinstripes

Ianto had tried to stay awake on the way back to Avalon, he really had. He had things to organize, details to fine tune, and stories to maintain depending on who he was speaking to. Stephen was driving the SUV back -- Jean-Luc was asleep in the passenger seat, Rani, Tosh, and Akira were in the next row, and Ianto found himself with a bemused, half-naked, and injured Jack who acted as though he was merely tolerating the experience. Ianto didn't care, just sat next to him and tried not to touch. It wasn't _his_ Jack in the rear seat with him, and until he had time to talk one-on-one with Jack, he knew better.

Didn't work, though, despite the speed with which his thoughts were spinning and the smell of Jack (not pleasant) increasing within the confines of the vehicle. He woke up when the SUV stopped and doors opened and shut, his head resting on Jack's shoulder. Everyone was out of the vehicle, Ianto noted while he straightened and rubbed sleep from his eyes, pretending not to see Jack's amused smirk. The smirk, while it came naturally, appeared so off on Jack's face, knowing as Ianto did that the same motivations behind it did not exist with this Jack. Or perhaps they did, but Ianto didn't hold for a second that it meant anything. Jack was attracted to everyone. In Jack's smirk, however, Ianto didn't miss the lines of fatigue and pain edging the swollen lips, or the bruise shadowing his jawline where shadows shouldn't live. He mentally kicked himself for forgetting; he'd been too busy thinking about destroying Torchwood Four and, his Jack or not, the man had still been chained to their walls for god knew how long.

Ianto got out of the vehicle first, waiting for Jack as he slid out on Ianto's side, despite an available door on Jack's. That was filed away as well, along with the scars, the cuts, the bruises. And as much as he knew it was inappropriate, Ianto noted the trim waist, the way the muscles in his shoulders twinged when he stepped out of the vehicle. The product of days with his arms stretched out and up, Ianto assumed, not missing the tremor in Jack's hand which he tried to mask with a careful stretch.

"Would you ..." Ianto beckoned Jack over as he spoke, making a show of leaning against the SUV despite feeling much stronger following his rest, "would you lend your assistance again? My legs are still shaky and that's a long walk," Ianto lied smoothly, leaning against Jack as much as Jack was leaning against him.

Ianto could distinctly remember the last time Jack had leaned on him.  Strangely (or not so strangely), Jack felt the same.

Stephen caught up with them just inside Avalon's doors. He handed Ianto a rather large bottle of water; only then did Ianto realize just how thirsty he was. He drank while Stephen updated him. "Everyone's been assigned a room and bedded down for the night." Ianto didn't miss the glance at Jack; Stephen wanted to talk. Which was good, Ianto needed to speak with him as well.

Passing the bottle on to Jack, Ianto caught sight of Tosh and Akira standing in the hallway. He really needed Stephen to actually act as Mr. Black in front of them. "We need a cover story for tonight. Can you ask Tosh to work on that? I need a shower, as does Captain Stinky here." Stephen caught Ianto's eyes as they darted a look at Jack's torso, then up. Ianto's quarters, as they were, were located on the second floor. He had a private bathroom, as would the staff, and Jack did need medical attention.

Stephen nodded what Ianto hoped was his understanding with his answer and blithely ignored Jack's protests against Ianto's childish "stinky" comments. "I'll speak with her. You owe me a t-shirt, by the way." Stephen gestured at what Ianto knew, but refused to actually look at, was a rather large hole in the black cloth.

"Dock it from my check, Mr. Black," Ianto deadpanned and Stephen laughed while turning away to visit with Tosh and Akira.

Jack watched the exchange with narrowed eyes; what he was thinking Ianto hadn't the slightest, but he gestured up the stairs. "My room's up there. We can get cleaned up in there."

"Thought you weren't one of them?" Jack asked as together they managed to climb the stairs. Though, at this point, it was far more Ianto leading than Jack. Ianto didn't comment, and neither did Jack.

"I'm not." Ianto led the way to his modest quarters, nothing more than bare essentials and a bathroom, unlike Jean-Luc's room (second largest to the first master bedroom which had been converted to classrooms) which he had insisted be spacious with all the necessities. ("I need a room to relax in after a strenuous day. Besides, if you're not going to take the room, I want it. I'd hate for it to go to waste.")

Ianto hadn't argued.

He drew the bath, making the water hot but tolerable, and let the tub fill while he went back to the main bedroom. He must have surprised Jack, because just for a moment, Ianto saw a very lost Jack. The look vanished as soon as Jack noticed Ianto, though, the familiar smirk curving his lips as his hands settled on his hips. "So, Ianto. Or should I refer to you as Mr. Black? Because that man Stephen downstairs was definitely not Mr. Black."

Of course Jack wasn't stupid, even if he was different, Ianto reminded himself. He must have heard about Ms. White from the Avalon kids -- or the people from Torchwood Four -- and made the connection. "And what should I call you? Because your name is not Jack Harkness."

"Jack suits me, think I'll keep it. Captain Jack Harkness ... captain of what?"

Ianto refrained from commenting that he was captain of nothing as he'd chosen to leave, and was conscious of the glint in Jack's eye -- he had to remind himself -- this man was not Jack. For all Ianto knew, he was a dangerous man. _Destroyed a kingdom. Not a good man._ Instead, he pointed to the bathroom. "Go, get clean. We'll discuss names when you no longer smell of mildew." It was more than just mildew, but as much as Ianto wanted to dislike the man for being both everything and nothing that he wanted, he couldn't bring himself to kick Jack's pride. He reeked of urine and vomit, sweat and blood. No need to shame the man for the past.

Thankfully, Jack didn't argue, just shrugged and stripped as he walked, gracing Ianto with a full view of his arse as he strutted confidently into the bathroom. Once Jack, always Jack, it appeared, even injured.

With a slight smile that Ianto couldn't help, he walked to the window, staring outside while Jack bathed. He heard the tub drain twice and refill, but he didn't move until he heard a knock at the door. Stephen, with a med kit and a change of clothes that Ianto assumed was for Jack; despite the thinner look, none of Ianto's trousers would fit Jack. They didn't speak, but Ianto understood Stephen's poignant look at the energy drinks and water he brought as well. Raising one in toast before Stephen left, Ianto drank one of the energy drinks (nasty, sickeningly sweet) before he deposited the clothing on the bed and ventured into the loo.

Jack's eyes were closed, his skin rosy where there were no cuts or damaged skin, the flannel thrown on the tub's edge. Ianto discarded Jack's trousers in the rubbish bin and carried it outside his bedroom to be thrown out later; no sense in keeping the smell in his room. Jack still appeared to be asleep when Ianto returned, and he sat on the toilet's lid, flipping through the kit to see what could be used on Jack's injuries before Rani had a chance to work her magic on him.

"Try anything, and I'll kill you before you can blink" came a sleepy voice from the bathtub.

Ianto bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, maintaining a polite, blank look he'd mastered while working in the Information Center. He slid his coat off, hanging it on a door hook before he walked round to the bathtub and grabbed the shower head from the wall. He'd seen Jack's shoulders spasm; they had to be hurting, making raising his arms next to impossible. "Of course you could," Ianto placated, turning on the water again, warming it before he directed it on Jack's scalp. "But then you'd have to deal with Jean-Luc and Stephen, and I doubt they'd be as willing to wash your hair."

"They'd take one look at me..." Jack's response trailed off into an appreciative moan which on any other occasion would have had Ianto hard and panting in seconds, and he had to note that if he ever saw his Jack again, to add "shampooing hair" to the list of things that make Jack moan. Ianto wondered if it was the hair; the mass was such an indicator of his mood that maybe it actually was sentient.

He spent far too much time working the soap down into the hair, massaging away the regret and confusion Ianto felt through some cathartic therapeutic offering. But Jack's sigh of contentment made him linger, touching longer than he ought. "Back," Ianto instructed softly, unwilling to shatter the blissful, relaxed look on Jack's face. Not Jack. Not his Jack, at any rate. It was like an echo, still similar from the initial shout, but softer, still reminiscent of the original but lacking the same qualities which made the original the force it had been. He touched Jack's chin lightly to get him to tilt his head and Jack complied, permitting Ianto to rinse away the suds and to comb through the snarls and tangles. His hair was longer, long enough that time and violence had locked the strands tighter than the buckles that had restrained him to the walls. But they unknotted under Ianto's care, fingers running smoothly through clean strands.

"Joining me?" Ianto had seen that look in the Captain's eye before (pupils blown, eyes almost black), heard that tone in his voice, and sure enough (though _how_ was one of those Jack-mysteries Ianto would never understand), Jack's cock rested against his stomach, hard and looking every much the same as Ianto remembered.

"Don't flatter yourself." The moment broken, Ianto stepped away from the tub, shaking the water from his arms and pulling the t-shirt (hole, the size of three fingers, he noted before he could stop himself). He gestured for Jack to step out of the tub, waiting impatiently with a towel. He almost offered a helping hand to Jack as the other man struggled to stand after he'd pulled the drain, but refrained.

Fuck, Jack was a handsome man. Even bruised he exuded an appeal Ianto found hard to resist.

"Come on, we were lovers." Jack sidled up to Ianto, but his words left Ianto cold, any desire he may have felt evaporating quickly to mingle with the steam, strangling within the humid air.

"No, we never were." Ianto ignored Jack and stripped out of his leather trousers and briefs, eager to wash away the night and start fresh with a significant lack of blood-crusted skin. He threw shut the curtain and turned on the water, sending it shooting through the shower head with more force than he had with Jack's shampooing.

"You fucked, then. But you never got what you really wanted."

Ianto could hear Jack clearly, could even hear him wanking, though his movements through clear plastic curtain confirmed what Ianto thought he'd heard. Once Jack, always Jack. No qualms, and definitely less reserved than his counterpart. Ianto stepped out from under the water, soap in his hair, and peeked around the curtain. Sure enough, Jack leaned against the counter, erection in hand, lazily wanking but steadily increasing the pace. Ianto watched for a moment with deliberate casual disinterest, then shrugged. "You're going to hurt yourself doing that."

Jack ignored him, putting on a show worthy of any porn Ianto had seen before Ianto turned away and stepped back under the spray, smirking when he heard Jack's yelp when he came.

Those shoulder muscles were a bitch, especially when one forgot they had been recently abused.

Ianto finished his shower and stepped out to an empty loo. He buffed dry his hair, then knotted the towel around his waist before grabbing the kit, grimacing when he found a single red rose petal resting on top. He found Jack in the main bedroom, clothed in the jeans Stephen had brought. He'd yet to put on a shirt; Ianto didn't figure he wanted to test those back muscles again so quickly.

"What happened?"

Jack's question at first confused Ianto and made him seriously concerned for the state of Jack's mental health, but he realized Jack was asking not about what happened at Torchwood Four, but rather what happened between he and Jack. The other Jack. Ianto's Jack. "You left." Ianto began applying an antibiotic cream to the shallow cuts, most of the injuries appearing superficial (yet painful, Ianto imagined) and nothing required stitches. The bruising would fade, but either Rani had just healed him or Geoffrey had been taking his time.

That thought left Ianto with a rather unpleasant taste, considering that Rani had healed him before.

How long had Jack been with them?

"I must have made a good impression. The one, Tosh, looked ready to pounce on me. Cute girl, bet she's feisty."

Ianto tuned out the tale of Jack and his encounter with the feisty twins from the planet Qzectyl, not particularly caring about Jack's escapades but at the same time relieved for the shield it put between them. He dabbed the last of the cuts with the antibiotic and stepped away, having touched Jack more than he wished. "Her name is Toshiko Sato, technology expert. The medic is Owen Harper and Gwen Cooper is a former constable and our link between the police and Torchwood. They are all part of your team at Torchwood Three in Cardiff."

"And what does that make you, Mr. Black?"

With a barely suppressed scowl, Ianto tossed a bottle of water at Jack who barely brought his hands up in time to catch it. "Only the Queen, Stephen, and Jean-Luc know that information. Otherwise, I'm simply Ianto Jones, tea boy for Torchwood Three."

Jack apparently swallowed a gulp of water wrong, coughing and sputtering while Ianto watched, arms crossed, until he could again speak. "You're the tea boy?"

"So I've been called." Not that Ianto had been operating under that title for some time, nor that he really cared about the name. Oddly it had turned more into a joke between he and Owen than an insult. They had such an odd relationship, he and Owen. Reminded him of the dynamics between he and Elaine growing up.

"Why are you telling me this? I apparently left and if I left, it was for good reason."

Ianto wondered if this Jack had ever met the Doctor. He had to be younger, or Ianto supposed he could be from an alternate world. He'd read the theory, time diverting from each choice, innumerable paths and possibilities existing in simultaneous realities.  Would explain why Ianto's Jack hadn't appeared to know details about Ianto - different realities, different times.  Somewhere, his Jack and this one's paths diverged. 

Possibly.

He wondered what the worlds looked like when he hadn't made the choice to become Mr. Black. Would Stephen had filled in? Would Torchwood Four have been found?

Would those eggs have hatched, down in the darkened pits of Torchwood Four?

"They need you back. And Kramer warned that something is coming. They can't have their attention focused on you when they need to be protecting Britain from whatever is coming."

"And what about you? You don't need me back?" Jack stalked towards him, obviously keying in to the fact that Ianto had failed to include himself with the team. He smelled faintly of medicine, but in general, Jack still _smelled_ the way Ianto remembered him.

God, if he survived whatever was coming, Jack was going to be the death of him.

"I need the team to function as they had, not what they've become. They need Jack back." Ianto stepped away from Jack, digging through the kit and finding a packet of pain relievers. He threw them at Jack and headed to his wardrobe, finding the spare suit he kept at Avalon. Navy blue with a cobalt pinstripe, cobalt shirt and a silk tie to match. He had worn this suit when Jack had kissed him in front of the team -- one reason why it had been banished to Avalon. He dressed while he spoke, "and not just any Jack. They need Jack their leader."

"You want me to keep pretending." Ianto's hands stilled on the buttons of his shirt, remembering what it had felt like to hear Jack speak those words. Ridiculous, unimportant. It was nothing they had ever had and he hadn't wanted it until this Jack had pretended.

Tiny lie, but Ianto was good at those when it came to himself.

"Funny as it might sound, but I see no point in sticking around to find out whatever crackpot-Kramer was talking about."

"No?" He'd quickly buttoned the remaining few buttons and began tucking his shirt into his trousers. Ianto needed the suit, as much as he hated being in this particular one. His suits were as much comforting as they were a professional reminder; in them, he could remember that this Jack wasn't his. If any Jack ever was. "You sacrificed yourself to protect the children of Avalon. You'd leave them to whatever terror loomed? Then what was the point, I ask, in allowing yourself to be chained and beaten for them? Unless you enjoyed the abuse. Was that it, Jack? Did you do it for enjoyment?"

Ianto looked up from buckling his belt in time to catch Jack's face pale and harden, the casual ease (and attempted seduction) he'd been treating Ianto with gone. This was the man Ianto's Jack had spoken about, the one who'd destroyed a kingdom.

He could believe it.

A caged animal, backed into a corner, Jack reacted as Ianto assumed he would (but perhaps not to the severity) by racing across the room, hand on Ianto's throat as he was slammed against the wall behind him. Weak as Jack was, Ianto could nearly see the adrenaline racing down his arms, fueling the fingertips that dug into the sides of his neck, pinching the carotid and crushing down on his trachea.

Ianto calmly blinked.

With a curse, Jack held him a moment longer, then loosened his grip. Spots danced in Ianto's eyes but he remained standing, if not a little light-headed and gasping for air.

"You know nothing about me."

Rubbing his neck, Ianto straightened, smoothing his shirt as he watched Jack pace in front of him. "Quite the contrary. You won't leave, you know their faces, their names. You won't go, not while knowingly leaving the children in danger and especially not without what I am willing to offer you."

His words stopped Jack, if only for a moment, before Jack grinned, edging close enough to run a finger down the straight lines of Ianto's shirt to cup Ianto's cock through the cloth of his trousers.

It took a moment, a long moment, for Ianto to register his offense. "I am no whore," he growled, pushing Jack's hand away, refusing to blush in shame from his body's reaction.

Jack just laughed. His Jack had never laughed _at_ him before. Never in mockery. God, it hurt. "It's sex. What, Mr. Black wouldn't do whatever's necessary to protect Britain? You want me, I enjoy an attractive man in suit or leather, why waste good time not fucking while we face threat and try to save the world?"

"Six months," Ianto spoke after taking a moment to collect himself. "Stay for six months resuming your role as leader of Torchwood Three. You can tell them whatever story you want to explain your departure, I really don't care. If the threat Kramer mentioned still hasn't arrived in six months time, I will conclude our bargain and give what I promised."

"And if you don't?"

"Deliver? Then I will most likely be dead. I will make arrangements to ensure our deal is not broken."

Jack studied him for a time; Ianto remained as determined and calm as he could. He'd withstood greater pressure; he'd hid a Cyberwoman in the basement of the Hub.

"If I do it, I do it for the kids, not for your team and certainly not because I give one damn about you, your country, or your agenda as Mr. Black." At Ianto's nod, Jack continued. "What could you possibly offer me? I can go anywhere, pick up what trinkets you might have at Torchwood for fractions of their value to you."

Ianto smiled then, knowing he had won this match and proceeded to lie through his teeth.

"Immortality."

***

There had been disbelief following Ianto's offer, but he couldn't have chosen a better (and more substantiated) offer. Six months down the road and it might be a different story, but until then, he had Jack's promise to remain and step in where the former Jack had left, so long as Ianto's claims checked out.

They would. The entire team had seen Jack return from the dead twice.

He was also going to keep pretending, while under strict orders not to shag the team or reveal what he knew of Avalon to anyone outside of who was present that night, otherwise the bargain was broken. Ianto knew he wouldn't break their deal. His father had said it himself, the younger Jack had quested for immortality.

And then Jack had somehow found it.

Ianto supposed one had to be careful what one wished for -- Jack hadn't appeared happy with the life of an immortal, even tempting fate by taking his own life. For all the times Ianto had nearly died (or died; he was like a fucking cat, for goodness sakes. How many times could he come that close and Death's final hand?), that did not lessen the importance of life. He knew there were choices that one made, and life was one of them. But at the same time, working for Torchwood, where he spent every moment on duty fighting for the lives of an entire nation, he couldn't understand intentionally ceasing it, not without cause. Although he supposed everyone had a cause, even if he didn't personally agree. It was hard to stomach, though, and just something he and Jack would never agree on simply because he couldn't understand.

If Jack gained that from his other life, far out in time and heavens, well, that dimmed a bit of the space exploration curiosity.

He'd left Jack in his bedroom to get some sleep, walking the halls of the new Avalon searching for Stephen. It didn't take him long; after a day like they had, Stephen would either in the gym or pouring over files. Ianto tried the gym first, grinning at the small victory when he located Stephen there, burning excess energy on a practice dummy. He watched for a while, impressed as he always was by Stephen's physical skill -- almost wishing he'd paid better attention as a youth -- then interrupted. "Not bad for a man your age."

Stephen laughed as he rounded on the dummy one last time, then joined Ianto, collecting his towel and water bottle as he walked. "Careful, boy. I'll have to remind you that with age comes wisdom, and with wisdom comes the ability to defeat any boastful tongue."

Ianto grinned and followed Stephen to the small locker room with their typical banter, but didn't follow him into the showers; odd how his day had turned into following men around bathrooms. Finally, he couldn't wait any longer to know. "Are all the students taken accounted for?"

"Yes. Nobody seemed to have taken any real injury, though some blood samples were drawn," Stephen spoke over the sounds of the shower. "The graduates and Guardian-protected as well. The teachers were all accounted for, with the exception of one."

"Killed at Avalon?"

"No."

Ianto blinked in surprise as Stephen stepped out of the showers, toweling off.

"Tiffany Woodbridge. Taught most of the early Science classes."

"Right, I remember her, faintly. She came just two years back, replaced Ms. Hatfield when she retired." Ianto waited for Stephen to dress before they began their walk to the offices of Mr. Black. "Fuck, she wasn't still in ... "

"No, no. She's still alive, as far as Lana was aware. Her biological parents never married. She grew up with her mother, Elise Standley, who married a man named Peter Woodbridge."

Frowning, Ianto started up a pot of coffee; no office complete without one, really. The fact that it was his personal office, technically, and there was a coffee machine three doors down in the teacher's lounge was beside the point. "That's in her background file."

"Her biological father is apparently Michael Hallings."

Ianto dropped the mug he was holding. "Shite!" The broken ceramic mug forgotten, Ianto stared at Stephen. There was no way he would have missed the name of Torchwood Four's leader in their exhaustive search through personnel records. "How the hell was that missed?"

"I don't know. It shouldn't have been. From what I gathered, Tiffany bragged about the relationship with her father to some of the kids while they were being held, but didn't elaborate. Ianto, what happened in there? And what's Tiffany involved in?"

"The fuck I care about Tiffany," Ianto swore, picking up the shattered pieces of the ceramic mug and throwing them into the rubbish bin. She had betrayed Avalon and Torchwood; she had betrayed Ms. White. He felt no sympathy for whatever the girl had gotten herself involved in.

Actually, he found himself almost disappointed she hadn't been in the building when Jean-Luc destroyed it.

No, no. That wasn't right. He wasn't one of them.

"One of Torchwood Four's scientists, Joseph Kramer, ranted about something coming -- that they were already here." Ianto waited for a moment in front of the coffee machine as it brewed, but then gave up and began pacing, too impatient and anxious to remain still. "Then there was a room. You should have seen it -- no, you should be glad you didn't see it. Giant eggs bigger than a football, about fifty of them, all in a temperature-controlled room. And there were jars ... with ... creatures. Wings, claws, like nothing I've ever seen. At first, I thought Torchwood Four was running experiments, twisting genetics like Nazi scientists. Fuck, they were alive, all of them."

"The eggs?"

"The creatures too. One blinked at me and I swore it...I know the feeling of Jean-Luc trying to creep into my mind. This felt...it was evil. I don't know what it was, but my reaction is not because it's alien, I deal with alien all the time. This was...it wasn't good." Ianto stopped, flustered and at a loss for how to continue. He poured two mugs of coffee, noting he'd have to replace the one he'd broken, before sitting down with Stephen on the couches that filled the room. Office, yes. But with their duplicity, Ianto had made sure there were no hierarchical points in the room -- chairs and couches faced each other, no grand throne-like chair Ms. White had been so fond of; even the office table was round. A person walking into the room would never be confused if they found Stephen sitting where Ianto ought, or vice versa.

"You showed Jean-Luc what you saw and felt."

Ianto nodded at Stephen's presumption, then sipped his coffee, resting his head on the back of the couch.

"Your method of drawing him out was quite resourceful. Always knew he was just blocking his gifts."

"It was a gamble, but as I lacked any C4, that was my only option." Ianto tapped his mug, then continued, "They weren't studying those creatures, they were housing them. With the time delay from the outside, they could bring in eggs time after time, collecting them until it was time."

"Wouldn't you want a fully raised army if you were going to make a run on Britain?" Stephen stood and grabbed the coffee pot from the warmer, topping off Ianto's mug and refilling his own.

"Sure, if you needed to breed an army to fight." Ianto scowled into his mug. He hadn't worked out yet why they had taken the Avalon kids, but he had worked out this. "There's something coming. The fight is coming. But Kramer said they were already here. Those eggs, they were to populate once the fighting was done."

"Instant generations, spit out faster than humans could recover from the death toll. Wouldn't even need to bring creatures capable of reproduction with the warriors or stores of eggs. Hell, it wouldn't matter if the warriors all died." Ianto raised his mug in mock-toast for Stephen's reasoning. His line of thought could be wrong, he could have read the situation entirely wrong and the destruction of Torchwood Four was unnecessary, but Ianto knew, he _knew_ what he'd felt when that thing had blinked at him. "Shite, if you're right, then there are breeders out there. We don't know what they look like, save they come from an egg."

"Yes, we do." Stephen straightened immediately and Ianto cursed his inattention months back. He hadn't thought it real at the time. "A pale dragon was reported in the Brecon Beacons months ago, I filed the report, but marked it unworthy of further investigation. Fits what I saw in that room."

"A...what? Dragons are a myth."

"And I thought it was just a bird. Another reason not to breed the army here -- we'd notice their eating habits. Eggs and what, larva? They can be stored."

Stephen's mouth opened and closed a number of times. Ianto could tell he wanted to argue but opted against it. Instead, he chose an avenue that caught Ianto off guard. "Don't blame yourself for missing this, Ianto."

Ianto pondered Stephen's statement, and decided that yes, there was guilt. But at least Torchwood Four was destroyed and the mistake nullified. At least to the best of his knowledge. For all he knew, there could be other incubators like Torchwood Four. He wondered if Tosh could run a scan on the area, searching for a change in typical time patterns. It might be wise. "It's my responsibility, Stephen."

Silence stretched between the former mentor and pupil, an uneasy silence that Ianto found as unpleasant as soured milk, but that wasn't to be helped. He had nothing more to say, and it was high time he owned the situation. Despite the Oxford branch's disappearance long before he ever stepped in, Torchwood was under his governance. And this...fuck. How does one prepare for this? How was he supposed to make sure everyone was ready for whatever was coming? How was he supposed to prepare for fucking alien dragons?

 _"The 21st century is when it all changes, and you've got to be ready."_

Ianto felt sick. He didn't believe in a god, per se, but he offered a plea to any deity listening. _Don't let this be the change. Please don't let an alien victory be the change. Or at least let me be dead when it happens._

"What can I do to help?"

Glancing up, Ianto saw Stephen leaning forward, elbows on his knees and his coffee mug clenched tight within his hands. Ianto set his own down, rubbing a hand over his face. He felt like shite. "I think we should drop the charade. Jack's returned, Torchwood Three can manage without me. I didn't want to let them go before, but now...I should be here."

"No."

Startled, Ianto looked up into the equally determined face of Stephen. If Ianto wasn't mistaken, there was more white hair in his beard. Not that Ianto counted hairs, but Stephen had aged during Avalon's disappearance, if not by years then by stress. "What do you mean, no?"

"They murdered your mother and they had no qualms killing you despite not knowing who you were. If there's something coming...we can't risk them destabilizing our alien defenses."

It took less than a breath for Ianto to realize what Stephen was saying. "No! I will not have you become a target in my stead. Absolutely not."

"If it's as serious as you think, then yes, it is necessary. You can't--"

Ianto jumped to his feet, grasping desperately for reasons and logic as he vehemently denied what Stephen said. He was too emotionally connected, he knew he was. Distance had fled once Jack had returned; he still hadn't even had time to really deal with that. But now Stephen...no. It wasn't going to happen. "Yes, I can. I'll ask for your resignation--"

Stephen stood as well, his voice rising to match Ianto's, which had steadily gained in tone and volume. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm not leaving my post. If we're attacked, odds are they'd come after me, I could create a diversion, giving you a chance to--"

Temper completely flayed, Ianto heard himself more than he was conscious of himself bellowing, "I'm not having you die for me!"

"It's my bloody choice!"

Turns out, Ianto absently noted, that Stephen could yell as well.

A throat clearing behind them had both Ianto and Stephen turning from their nose-to-nose stubborn glare, neither wanting to back down without a fight, and Ianto was determined to win. He was surprised to find Jack standing in front of the closed door. He was wearing the white button-down shirt Ianto had worn the previous day. He was thinner than Ianto's Jack, yes, but the shirt was still tight across the chest and shoulders; probably hadn't wanted to pull a shirt over his head and found the only other option.

Ianto didn't think he'd ever found himself more attracted to the man. Wearing his shirt should not be so...endearing? Erotic. Possessive.

"I have to side with Stephen on this. If there's a threat coming, keeping an element of surprise will help our cause, not to mention maintaining leadership."

Stephen's brow arched and Ianto shrugged, knowing the question. "He figured it out." He rounded on Jack once more, still unwilling to lose this battle. "Your opinion doesn't matter in this."

"No?" Jack smirked and somehow, Ianto knew he'd lost. "As leader of Torchwood Three, I'm pulling on my years of expertise, which as you know, are far greater than yours due to my inability to depart from this mortal coil." When Stephen didn't bat an eye, Jack's grin grew even larger. "My opinion counts, especially as the team would fall apart without our dear Ianto. We need you there, Stephen can _pretend_ to be Mr. Black and we'll get ready for whatever Kramer thought was coming."

Not endearing. How could this Jack ever be endearing? Ianto could feel his teeth grinding against each other, not missing Jack's stress on "pretend" and wondering just what the hell the man was up to. He was being blackmailed -- not that he hadn't used a bit of emotional blackmail on Jack earlier but this...he'd feel better about it if he knew what Jack stood to gain.

He was almost in control of himself again, almost had a response, when Jack tacked on an insincere and for every intent seductive purr, " _Sir_."

Ianto's mind whited out for a moment, torn between fury and memories, fond memories, his Jack insisting Ianto call him Jack, not sir. The night Jack had invited him to dinner, Ianto hadn't called him "sir" since, except in jest. That night had been...it had been a good night. A really good night.

Focus returned, and Ianto relaxed as he felt his control slipping quickly into place. Distance was easy around this Jack, walls rebuilt and the mask he'd hid behind when he'd first arrived at Torchwood Three replaced. He could deal with this Jack and whatever was motivating him. He'd dealt with far worse. Including alien invasion threat. At least this time they had forewarning; he refused to become Yvonne, head in the sand and arse in the air. They would be ready to fight against whatever came.

Stephen hadn't missed the tension, eyes darting back and forth between Ianto and Jack. Ianto wasn't going to dissuade him from the notion that it was due to the reveal of Mr. Black, if that was the conclusion Stephen had drawn. Given no alternative, Ianto backed down. "Fine, I'll defer to both of you. But Captain Harkness," Ianto found it remarkably easy to separate Jack and Captain Harkness; after all, he had loads of practice with his mother, "pull that again and _immortality_ or not, I will make you disappear."

The air shimmered outside the window, giving Ianto a welcome distraction from the slightly wary Jack. "Jean-Luc's awake. Go ahead and plot your next attempt to undermine me, I welcome your failure."

Ianto stormed out of the room, not missing Stephen's "what the hell happened between you two?" directed at Jack before he shut the door with enough force for emphasis.

Separation would be easy.

Mourn the one, hate the other.

Jack had taught him well.

***

Their return to the Hub was just as Ianto had assumed it would be, though Tosh was a bit confused when Ianto had insisted Jack ride with her. Ianto had needed the time to himself. He had spoken with Jean-Luc after leaving Mr. Black's offices, apologized for causing his friend pain but not for the outcome. Jean-Luc had apologized the same and Ianto felt moderately better; their past was the past and neither refused forgiveness. Ianto felt better, knowing he still had one person he could depend on, though he could tell Jean-Luc was hurt when he refused to allow Jean-Luc "in" to see what was bothering him. They'd had no secrets, for a long time. Now...there were just some secrets which shouldn't burden his friend. If Jean-Luc knew of the earlier conversation with Stephen...actually, Ianto wasn't sure how he would respond. He knew for certain he did not want to hear Jean-Luc swearing upon his life to protect Ianto. Those words would haunt him despite the general understanding that Ianto would gladly give his life for his friend, and he knew Jean-Luc felt the same. But that was the love of friendship. He didn't want to add the taint of duty, not to their friendship. Ianto valued it far too much.

So he hurt Jean-Luc, just a little. Maybe after the threat came and went, he could show Jean-Luc why he had blocked his friend out. But until then, Ianto's barriers were firmly in place and it'd take Jean-Luc the mental equivalent of a nuclear blast to bring them down (or the pin-point focus of Jean-Luc's full power, but Ianto rather hoped that would never happen again).

Gwen had squealed when he, Tosh, and Jack arrived back at the Hub. She'd slapped Jack, then hugged him until Jack had pried himself away with multiple promises never to leave again. Owen was a bit more reserved, giving Ianto the once-over and noting his reaction (blank, impassive, arms crossed, and watching the team greet not-Jack with open arms) before shaking Jack's hand, calling him a wanker and a git but welcome back. Tosh stood next to Gwen, the two of them clutching each other's hands in joy and excitement, matching silly grins plastered to their faces as they listened to Jack lie about his tales of daring and heroics during his absence.

The broad smile never left Jack's face. Ianto only assumed the adoring fans thing was something he enjoyed and cultivated.

Fuck, maybe that's why Jack left in the first place.

A dysfunctional family, headed by a father-figure one couldn't (shouldn't) trust farther than they could throw him but blinded by the charm and charisma oozing from every pore into a state of deluded family unity. The children would all defer to the father, believing him infallible and wise -- but he was no more wise and infallible than the children were innocent and naive. But they needed the father, craved the stability and support he'd provide. And the stability and support were desperately needed, Ianto wasn't fool enough to think it wasn't, and he wasn't arrogant enough to believe he could provide it. Something was coming, and they were far from prepared.

But with Jack, maybe they could hold together long enough to emerge victorious.

Ianto turned away from the scene to put on a pot of coffee.


	4. White Roses

There were some days in which Ianto hated belonging to a secret operation. Operations. Plural. But in particular, Avalon. In the days following the return of the children of Avalon, Ianto's evenings and part of his days were filled with trying to hire replacements for the teachers who had been killed, psychologists for those who had been taken (though, Stephen and Jean-Luc would benefit as well), and general staff for Avalon duties. Like cooking. Buying food. Housekeeping. Grounds keeping.

Nothing was ever simple, no victory without consequence.

And it wasn't like he could post a "help wanted" sign, especially not after the treachery and deception before.

They were making due - everyone pitching in to help, and some of the graduates and adults who had spent their childhood protected by a Guardian offered to stay at Avalon and take over some responsibilities until other replacements were found.

A solution, but not the optimal.

Jack wasn't making it any easier on Ianto, the infuriating man assigning Ianto menial, tedious work to occupy his work hours when Ianto could be focused on Avalon and the coming attack. Nothing was left uncleaned or unorganized at Torchwood Three, not even the unused lower levels. Jack made sure of that. When Jack called Ianto to his office for the sixth time one morning ("how do you spell 'tea-boy'? I'm writing a report for Mr. Black and I would like to note your superior skills in mucking the weevil cells"), Ianto realized he had created a monster.

Ironic, given that was not the first time he'd applied the name to Jack Harkness, but it was the first time he meant it.

The others noticed the strain between Jack and Ianto, but nothing was said, though there were mutinous grumblings spoken when Jack wasn't listening. Ianto heard and was stunned the first time Owen disobeyed Jack's orders and assisted Ianto with the removal of nine alien bodies - the remnants of yet another destructive species causing terror in Cardiff. There had been no opportunity to save them, to give them an option of leaving. They had killed indiscriminately, and the team had responded. They were large creatures, double the size of Ianto and far denser. With spines. Gwen had a spine pierce her arm but she would be fine, according to Owen as he helped Ianto heave a body into the back of the Torchwood trailer designed for days like this.

Owen pulled a muscle in his back that night, bitched about it for the next two weeks, but never in Jack's presence.

Ianto knew something was going on when Gwen joined him in the sewers to collect the body of a young woman a weevil had killed the night before. The team had captured it, brought it to back to the Hub but had apparently forgotten about the victim at the time. Ianto was sent to retrieve the body and dispose of it as per Torchwood protocol. Gwen had followed, insisting she join Ianto in case there was another weevil. Odd in and of itself, but when they arrived, the pipes smelled positively foul, and Gwen never complained. Why she had returned to help didn't exactly comfort Ianto.

"So, Jack's a bit different, yeah?"

And Ianto had his answer. She wanted to talk. He couldn't deny that the help wasn't appreciated, the poor girl's death hadn't been reported as an isolated, clean incident, but he could have been spared the gossip. Or whatever Gwen wanted. His shoes squelched in the silence that followed as he carefully breathed through his mouth - the stench was growing stronger and he really did not wish to know what he had stepped on. Gwen wasn't so fortunate or her olfactory sense was just that much stronger than his (Ianto rather believed he just had a stronger stomach), stopping to retch in a spot Ianto hoped was free from human parts. He didn't fancy digging through even more filth to ensure all evidence of a human death was removed.

"We don't know all that he went through while he was gone, I'm hardly going to pass judgement," Ianto finally lied, helping Gwen stand upright. He kept a hand on her elbow, both to provide a steadying hand and to make sure he didn't lose track of her as they ventured deeper into the dark pipes with two torches lighting the way. According to the reports, the girl's remains should have been located in the immediate area, but of yet, Ianto had not seen even a stitch of clothing, much less human remains.

But from the smell of decomposition, she, or others from the smell of it, had to be nearby.

"You do, though."

"Sorry?" Ianto swung the torch around, shining the light indirectly on Gwen's face.

"Pass judgement. You've never liked me. Was it Jack?"

Ianto stopped walking, he couldn't help himself. He was too busy trying to figure out what the hell Gwen was talking about, much less make sense of it. He was standing in a sewer pipe, smelling the most abhorrent of smells, fetching by request the remains of a human girl dragged into the darkness by an alien with someone who wanted to what, discuss petty jealousy? Not that Ianto was above jealousy, he most certainly had felt a little jealous of the attention Jack bestowed on the new recruit, but wasn't this a conversation for a pub, three pints into an evening?

"You're an innocent, Gwen," Ianto resumed walking, though his attention was split between Gwen and their path. "Your curiosity is childlike. To you, Torchwood is a game, a rush. You got a taste of it and you're addicted, wanting more but at the same time, naive in your beliefs that the darkness is out there and ugly. Easy to spot."

"I know it's not a game! I've seen people die!"

"Of course you have." Ianto tempered, a bit patronizing but he couldn't help himself. God, it was like a badge of honor to have witnessed death. "It's not a bad thing to be innocent, however, the innocent do not belong in Torchwood. The innocent do not see the darkness corrupting them because they think it's wearing a trench coat and looking suspicious. They do not see it reflected in the mirror."

"You think I'm evil," Gwen huffed, storming away from Ianto who rolled his eyes and followed. Grabbing onto her arm, he stopped her headstrong pace, turning Gwen to face him.

"You're not evil. But you are naive to believe that Torchwood hasn't corrupted you."

Gwen opened and closed her mouth a few times, and Ianto cut in before she could argue, noting that this was probably more than he had ever spoken to the woman in their combined history. "You still see the small picture. It's still personal. You see a small child in a jumper you want to protect because it is your need to protect each individual and yourself. It is why you joined the police, yes? Torchwood corrupts because it takes that need, whatever your driving need is, and abuses it, infuses it with power, making extremes of our initial desires."

"I don't understand."

Ianto counted to ten. This was really not the time nor the place to be holding the conversation, but Gwen seemed determined and Ianto didn't want this to end poorly. "Rhys. You cheated on him with Owen. Why?"

"Owen understood..."

"No. We both know Owen and he isn't one to sit around talking about his feelings. Why did you sleep with Owen?"

For a moment, Ianto didn't think Gwen was going to answer. He was encroaching on personal territory, after all. It was not any of his business, but yet, Gwen was.

"You know the secrets we keep, Ianto! I couldn't go to Rhys."

Ianto shook his head, the torch light swinging slightly as well, almost forgetting about the stench they were standing in but a waft of something foul reminded him quickly enough. "Since when does sex involve speaking secrets? You didn't not sleep with Rhys just because of Torchwood secrets. Why did you sleep with Owen?"

Gwen shrugged in defeat. "Because he understood what I needed."

"You needed sex, and you couldn't get that from your boyfriend?"

"No! It was just...a different need."

"It was sex."

"It was different!" The light from Gwen's torch bounced off the interiors of the pipe as she threw her hands in the air. Ianto just raised an eyebrow and waited. And waited some more as Gwen paced a small circle in front of him. "It was rougher, okay?" More than Ianto ever wanted to know, but no more than he had assumed. "It was...I don't know. Passionate. We fucked. It was spontaneous and fast and dirty. And I felt so alive."

And finally, Ianto noted, they were getting somewhere. "You couldn't have that with Rhys?"

"Oh, no." Gwen gave a little giggle and Ianto wasn't sure if that was in response to Rhys or the idea of having a dirty fuck with Rhys. Honestly, Ianto didn't know if Rhys knew the concept of a dirty fuck. "We love each other. I couldn't-"

He watched as the proverbial light bulb flared brilliantly in Gwen's mind, seeing in her eyes the moment when it all made sense. It would have been amusing, if they were standing in filthy, stinking tunnels filled with years of human waste and grime.

"Oh god." Ianto winced as Gwen covered her mouth in shock; he'd have to have Owen prescribe her a broad spectrum antibiotic.

"You were protecting him both from yourself and from losing his love because of what Torchwood had created," Ianto said frankly, resting a hand on her shoulder. Jack should really have been the one to have this conversation with her. He would have chosen a place less foul and with perhaps more alcohol. "Torchwood became the excuse. And when you drugged him? When you locked him in the cell after you stunned him? Who were you protecting? Him or his love?"

She looked on the verge of weeping. "You hate me."

"No." Ianto understood hate, he knew hate and felt it to his core. But it wasn't Gwen he hated, he couldn't even say he disliked her. "But you should never have been involved in Torchwood. Some of us should be able to preserve our innocence."

"I can't go back to how I was."

"You can't." Ianto smiled wryly, knowing that she had broken the grip of Retcon before, there was no question that she could do it again. She sounded scared, and he didn't blame her. He thought of his nephews and sister, his father, all those who died at Torchwood One and all who had died at Avalon. If he could go back, would he? Return to a time of innocence, of childish simplicity when all that mattered was his small world. He wouldn't do it, not for all the ignorance that came from not knowing. He understood Gwen, which frightened him slightly. "But now that you see your reflection, perhaps you can share some of that child with those of us who've lost ourselves within the excuse."

"Like Jack?"

No, Ianto admitted to himself, Jack was just playing within a world that Ianto had forced him into; Ianto's own excuse if he was honest. "Jack's somewhat of an exception." And indeed, he was.

Ianto suddenly found himself wrapped in a tight hug threatening to strangle the breath from him. The hard casing of the torch dug into his back and he feared where Gwen's gun was pointed but he hoped Jack had taught her safety as well as aiming because he rather preferred his backside in the condition it currently was in.

"Ianto Jones. I don't think-"

Gwen's voice cut off before she could say anything further and Ianto wondered only a moment before he was distracted by a slight change in the smell of the sewers. Still foul, but he'd smelled the hint of rotten sulfur before. It took him a moment to remember, clarity a swift blow to his gut. The day Avalon had burned. He'd smelled on the air a similar scent, when he'd stood in the grand entrance of the building. A slow burn of fear and anger coiled in his belly, knowing without a doubt that those responsible for the deaths at Avalon had passed through this pipe at some stage.

Hatred. He understood hatred.

"Ianto?" Gwen's voice trembled against him, still hugging him but by this point, Ianto would consider it far more clinging than hugging. He remembered their conversation and the abrupt end, and he glanced down at Gwen, only to find her staring into the darkness that lay before them.

Only it wasn't entirely dark.

Ianto's heart rate tripled; he could feel it pounding away at his chest in fear, trying to escape just like his feet were screaming at him.

Eyes shined in the dark, large eyes, despite the perceived distance. They had to be at least two hundred meters away, from what Ianto could judge. Large eyes, glowing green.

Dark green; appearing black when an orange filter was applied.

They blinked.

"Run." His voice was just a whisper, coming out more as a hiss than spoken word. Neither of them moved, staring at the eyes hovering in the dark. The eyes shifted, moving; Ianto realized they were getting closer, the smell of sulfur more prevalent. Finding his voice, he pried Gwen's hands off him and clutched one as he pulled her in the opposite direction, back to where they'd come. "Run!"

Run they did, sprinting down the tunnels with the smell of sulfur at their backs. Ianto could hear the rustle behind them like dry leaves blowing in the wind, tumbling over the other. Wet sounds, too, a large body moving through the slime and filth running through the middle of the tunnels. Where Ianto and Gwen ran, it was slightly elevated, but still slick; Gwen nearly tumbled once but Ianto grabbed on to her and pulled her back into motion.

Not fast enough. They weren't moving fast enough.

He wondered if it had any ketchup.

The air currents suddenly shifted, pummeling their faces as it was sucked back down the tunnel. It made no sense to Ianto, there should be no draft, no feeling of movement other than the relative 'wind' they were creating by their own movement as they ran.

When the rumble began, Ianto shoved Gwen into a side tunnel despite her protests, pushing her further into the side tunnel when the air roared past them in the main tunnel, a brilliant orange and red dance of sound and light with heat as their song. Ianto shielded Gwen from the fire ravaging the main tunnel, though he knew that if the flame were to curl around the corners, they'd be toast.

Literally.

Luckily, the fire appeared directed, scorching the main tunnel and creating the most noxious fumes Ianto had ever smelled, causing them both to cough and choke on the air. The heat was intense even twenty meters from the flame, Ianto could feel the sweat beading at his temples and at his neck. They had to get out of there, before the alien caught up with them or they cooked in the heat, they were open to attack in this tunnel. Ianto pushed Gwen on, racing through the tunnel, losing their footing for a moment when they heard the roar of the beast from the main tunnel.

There was a ladder in front of them, just up the tunnel; Ianto dearly hoped it led to the surface and not into say, the dragon's lair. He kept watching behind them, searching for any indication the dragon was following. Not that he could do much to shield Gwen if it launched its fire down the tunnel, but he would like some forewarning of imminent death.

So focused he was on what was behind them, that he never considered monitoring what was in front until Gwen screamed.

Two weevils snarled, confusing Ianto as he'd never known them to travel in pairs before. Gwen sank to her knees, screaming and Ianto saw blood staining the jacket she wore. Without thought of ethics or consequence, he drew his sidearm, firing repeatedly at the weevils before they could attack again, not stopping until the clip was empty and the weevils were dead.

They didn't _kill_ weevils. Not if they could help it. Jack would never allow it. Trap and cage, somehow better than euthanizing.

He'd feel regret later, but for the moment, all he saw was the open ladder and all he heard was the dragon's roar from the main tunnel as it approached, drawn by the gunfire, knowing its prey still lived.

"Come on Gwen. We've got to get up the ladder." Ianto tugged her up, noting the claw marks across her arm and shoulder but wasting little time on sympathy or consoling. They didn't _have_ time. He helped her up the first few rungs, lifting her into place and waiting until she got her footing and clasped the rung with her good arm. And so they moved, slowly up the ladder, increasing with speed as Gwen snapped out of the initial shock and pain, realizing she could brace herself against Ianto as she reached for the next rung.

It took some effort but Ianto managed to knock aside the cover and push Gwen to the surface. His trousers pulled at his legs, straining as the air was sucked backwards (approximately three minutes, forty-five seconds from the first time, but whether that was a recharge or just the time it took for their enemy to find them again, Ianto wasn't certain) and Ianto threw himself out of the opening, taking Gwen with him in a roll as fire burst towards the skies and heat poured over the pavement.

Far too close.

He couldn't move, not until he caught his breath and not until the roar of the fire dulled to the cracklesnap of burning waste, not ignited air. He kept Gwen shielded with his body until he deemed it safe to move. Gwen was crying; he could hardly blame her, he felt like crying himself. They couldn't stay there, however, for all he knew the dragon was on its way to the surface, though Ianto wasn't sure it'd risk the daylight.

He didn't want to test that theory.

Quickly checking Gwen's injuries, Ianto figured she'd make it okay to the Hub. The cuts were shallow from what he could tell, but he was still concerned, especially for the risk of infection. He wasn't going to leave her, she'd have to make it to the SUV with him, and from what he could tell, that was a good distance away. He bound her injuries with his shirt - not the best gauze and certainly not sterile, but given what they'd just been through, he didn't think it'd matter. Standing her up carefully, she finally spoke, pointing at the hole they'd just emerged from, the metal still glowing with heat.

"What...what was that?"

Ianto supported Gwen as she walked, ignoring her feeble protests. Once the welcoming and excitement over Jack's return had died down, Jack (under Ianto's orders) informed the team of the dangers ahead, and the suspicion that they might be large, winged aliens. He had left out the term dragon at Ianto's request - the word seemed so absurd that while it wouldn't be the first nor the last absurd thing Torchwood saw, Ianto didn't think it'd be taken seriously. Not until it was proven. And now ... "That was what is coming," Ianto replied, helping when Gwen stumbled.

"Shite," she squeaked, her eyes round and Ianto would have to agree, whether she was cursing her stumble or the alien, he wasn't certain but the phrase suited the events, none-the-less.

"Quite."

***

Outside the autopsy room that doubled for an operating theater, triage unit, burn center, and general medicine unit, Ianto slid down the wall to rest on his haunches, hands running through his hair as their flight and narrow escape caught up to him. Jack and Tosh caught up with him as well.

"When I sent you out to collect a body, I didn't mean bring another back."

Ianto peered up blearily at Jack, and for a moment, he could almost believe this was the real one and the words' meaning differed with tone and context. His Jack might have said the same thing, but Ianto would know it wasn't to be cruel, that there was concern beneath the words.

This Jack, however, he meant them as they sounded and cared not at all for the injured Gwen or for any of the team, for that matter. But that was what Ianto had created. He had thought it the best action. Now, well, he wasn't quite sure what the best action would have been. But he didn't think it this.

"You'll be relieved to know, then, that all physical evidence of the girl is gone." Ianto slowly stood, giving himself time to adjust to the blood-rush so he wouldn't faint, only then realizing he wore no shirt having used it for Gwen's injuries. Too late now to feel shame; it might explain Tosh's blush.

"Gone? Gone where?" From the question directed at his chest, Ianto assumed Jack had taken note of his lack of clothing as well.

Ianto hardly had time or patience to deal with Jack's questions, despite rationally knowing that as leader of Torchwood Three, Jack should know. But Ianto was tired of the games, tired of the anger, and most of all, just tired of fighting. "Incinerated by dragon fire. We wanted proof; we have it."

Jack's skepticism was evident as he scanned Ianto's figure, searching for burn marks Ianto assumed. "We escaped the first blast and were running for the surface when we encountered two weevils who attacked Gwen. I killed them. We ran some more, climbed to the surface before another blast of dragon fire lit the tunnel we had just been in. Unfortunately, I did not stop to take pictures as I was too concerned for the well-being of Gwen but next time I will make sure to capture some proper action photos. And if you don't mind," Ianto pushed away from the wall, nodding to Tosh who still remained speechless after the mention of 'dragons,' "I need a shower. I smell of waste, dragon and blood."

Ianto ignored Jack's additional questions and commands to stop as he turned towards the communal showers and locker room where he knew he had a spare suit stored.

Nothing was ever simple, no victory without consequences.

***

He retreated to the top of the Millennium Centre following his shower and learning that Gwen would be fine, requiring a few dozen stitches but Owen had seen worse. Ianto didn't want to know when or how.

The air was cold and he was glad he had remembered his heavier coat when he'd left Torchwood Three. He kept Jack's vigil, despite the man being gone, surfacing at eight in the morning and evening to stand on some high point in the city, watching out over the denizens and understanding why Torchwood existed.

He could almost pretend Jack was up here, comforting him, kissing him as the stiff wind whipped through their hair and tried to force them from the rooftop.

There was no Jack, not this time. Not in any time.

Instead of finding comfort, however, all Ianto could do was picture fire, racing across the city and around every bend. It'd leap from building to building, fueled by an alien napalm as it ravaged and burned everything Ianto sought to protect. It'd spread then, the fires and the death. London first, if they were smart, they'd attack numerous cities at one time. London would fall; London would burn.

Ianto didn't need an imagination to picture that, he still had the fires of Torchwood One and Avalon to stand in.

Britain would fall. Britain would burn. He couldn't stop the tears that fell, racing down his cheeks as he envisioned Cardiff burning, dragons flying in the skies. He didn't know when his father's house would succumb, maybe it would escape.

But it was so easy to hear his nephews' cries, his sister's screams.

God, they weren't ready.

 _He_ wasn't ready.

Ianto tried to picture what Ms. White would do, how she would react to the threat of invasion. And then, he remembered Torchwood One.

His family lacked a positive track record in prevention.

Maybe Jack would return with the Doctor, just in time to save the day again. It'd be possible, both had contributed to the continued existence of the human race probably more than Ianto knew. But he couldn't count on it, he knew he shouldn't count on it. Besides, what was a Doctor and Jack to do against dragons?

Cardiff was going to burn. And then London. And the rest of the world.

He had UNIT. He'd have to get in touch with his contacts at UNIT but rumor had it they were engineering a series of flying ships based on alien design. They might be ready in time, though that time frame was still questionable. Could they be ready at a moment's notice? Torchwood Four had known of Avalon, did they have their spies in with UNIT as well?

The other nations also needed to be alerted to the threat, though how Ianto was going to alert them without starting an instant war against anything that moved due to antsy trigger fingers, he didn't know. He wasn't sure what kind of tech the other nations had - he wasn't going to assume they had anything. But London had had some dangerous tech, the others might as well. He needed to contact the storage facility where most of Torchwood One's tech was stored - the beams which had taken out the Socorax ship were there, Ianto thought. That hadn't been in Ms. White's will and he wasn't sure if that meant if the weapon was still in functioning order. Or maybe the Cybermen and Daleks had destroyed their single most powerful line of defense. Entirely possible.

How does one prepare for invasion?

He could see the fire raining down on the city. He could see Torchwood Three fight valiantly. And they'd all die, even Jack. There would be none left to protect Britain or Earth.

God, he missed his Jack.

"You come up here a lot, don't you?"

The sound of Jack's voice startled Ianto completely out of his wits, believing for a fraction of a moment that Jack had returned, that some deity had heard his plea. But it was just the other one, the one who didn't fit. Ianto's excuse, his abuse of Torchwood power to serve his own needs. He felt no shame for the tears still wet on his face, but he felt shame for the hypocrisy.

"I had a friend once who said he came up here to remind himself that there's a world outside Torchwood. There's an entire population with no clue about the threats Earth faces -- no concept of space-time, or alien races, or tech so foreign it boggles the mind." Ianto patted his cheeks dry with his handkerchief and resumed his steady countenance as he quoted his Jack. He wasn't sure if it was his words that surprised Jack or the crying, maybe men didn't cry in his time. Or maybe they didn't carry handkerchiefs. "Coming up here reminded him that it was his duty to make sure they're safe."

Jack smiled as though he knew Ianto was speaking about the other version of him. "And is it working?"

So very much like his Jack that Ianto nearly laughed. In fact, that was precisely what Jack had said. He was creating circles within time.

Ianto just smiled in return, turning to face the city of Cardiff again, feeling Jack's heat as he stepped next to Ianto, so close their shoulders touched.

He and Jack had shared their first kiss up on this rooftop.

"How old are you?" When Ianto turned his head in surprise at the non sequitur, Jack just continued. "Your eyes are old, but you look young. Especially just then."

Ianto couldn't remember his Jack ever bothering to ask. "Twenty-seven."

"Twenty...and you're Mr. Black. Is that even legal?"

Shrugging, Ianto ignored the stare he could feel coming from Jack. Indifferent but resolved. He knew what he would do. And his honesty wasn't going to matter. "My mother was Ms. White. I came into the role upon her death."

"They killed your mother," Jack echoed flatly.

 _And a lot more_ Ianto thought, but didn't comment, choosing instead to change the topic. "We kissed for the first time up here. Cannibals attacked us. After that, I wasn't certain I would ever belong outside the Archives. You trusted my actions that day, believed in me despite all that I had done and wanted me back in the field. Soon after, Ms. White was killed and Avalon was destroyed. I don't know if I would have taken the role otherwise."

Despite the fact that Ianto wasn't talking about the Jack standing beside him (who was far too cruel, far too deceptive and far too .. self-motivated to be his Jack), he could feel Jack straighten and preen under the praise. That was a quality apparently even time couldn't erase.

"You really did see a dragon, didn't you?"

Jack's segue statement again surprised Ianto, he was out of practice when it came to speaking with Jack and the way his mind jumped from one thing to the next. "Yes. Or rather, I saw its eyes and the fire it breathed. Dragon enough." Watching the clouds move against the horizon, Ianto took a deep breath and plunged on. "Which is why you should leave. I know you picked up your things from wherever you were staying before Torchwood Four took you, I know you can travel through time. Go. I'll conclude our bargain, give you what you wanted."

"What about your team? I thought you needed me here to lead them?"

"I lied. I needed you here." Ianto refused to look at Jack despite knowing he had turned to watch Ianto. He couldn't. "But the battle is approaching and it's not your fight. You don't belong to this time, you shouldn't fight for it - it was wrong of me to get you involved. We'll manage, we did before." It hadn't been against dragons, but they could pull it off. They just needed the time to figure everything out. And some luck. A lot of luck. But they'd survived before. They could do it again. And what were a bunch of dragons? At least those could be killed. Least, Ianto hoped. The Cybermen and Daleks...not so much.

"And our bargain?"

Ianto straightened. He knew what he was doing was right, but at the same time, he'd held a tiny flare of hope that Jack would argue against his request to leave, that he'd insist on staying. Of course, this was Jack. A different Jack, younger. Mortal. Ianto couldn't blame him for running. "Find the times of King Arthur," Ianto said finally, knowing he was damning a kingdom but at the same time, he was just ensuring time's continuance, wasn't he? "Quest for the Grail. There you'll find your answers." Not entirely a lie. Jack just finds the answer that immortality is not possible. Or maybe he did, setting off on another quest in a different time, during which he was successful. Ianto wasn't sure how time worked, how time played. Jack might be irate with Ianto when he found his answers, but at least he wouldn't be in the now, fighting a war for Ianto that wasn't his.

"The Grail? That's an old Earth myth."

Ianto smirked, feeling lighter than he had in the few weeks this Jack had been around.

"So are dragons."

***

Jack had left the rooftop almost immediately following Ianto's response, barely a "goodbye" shared between them. It had been awkward, both of them fumbling around for the proper thing to say or do, but at least this time Ianto had had the opportunity to say the goodbye. That was something. Not much, but something.

Ianto had gone home after phoning Rhys to check on Gwen ("there are bleedin' wildcats in Cardiff now?"). Then he dialed Stephen to tell him about what he had seen and to talk a little strategy.

He didn't sleep, not that entire night.

Between planning what he was going to say to the team to the next actions he needed to take to salvage a win against the threat, Ianto couldn't calm himself enough to sleep. But at least the insomnia had proven productive. By the morning, he had a plan for the day, a schedule of events. First, their daily morning meeting. Ianto would break the news about Jack then, an emergency which had demanded his attention (Ianto couldn't demonize Jack, but at the same time, Ianto couldn't demonize himself). Jack had asked Ianto to pass along his goodbyes and then left with the Doctor, and that would be it. They'd talk about the dragons, the threat, and how they could prepare.

He'd also contact Sheppard that day and the others in the agreement, alerting them to a possible threat. Just for them to be on alert, but not to shoot at anything that moved. It was the best he could do, really.

But sitting at the conference table, watching as the others strolled in, Ianto felt his nerves flee and hide. It was probably going to damage the team, at the very least, if not destroy them to lose Jack again. Ianto knew it had been the right thing to do, that he shouldn't have brought him back in the first place, but... he'd needed. And now, they would be fine. They could do this.

He smiled as everyone walked in the room and took their spots, Owen griping the loudest over his date the previous night that had apparently ended poorly (really, Owen? No accounting for taste, apparently). Gwen's arm was in a sling, no field work for her for a time. She looked better though, flushed and carrying on about Rhys' attention he was doling on her. He couldn't begrudge her this happiness, Ianto was really just lucky she was speaking to him at all after what he had said to her. But it had been said, and now, not that he expected great change from anyone (or demanded it, he wasn't perfect after all), maybe now he and Gwen could get on better as a team. Better than the shaky ground they usually walked around each other.

Ianto would have to fill in when two wouldn't do in the field, but they'd manage. The team had been through worse.

"Where's Jack?" Tosh asked, sipping her tea Ianto had prepared before everyone had arrived. Their favorites for everyone. It was only right. Jack was gone and they were to discuss the end of the world type stuff. Only right.

He couldn't do this. Ianto stared blindly at his notes, tapping his pen insistently but out of rhythm.

But he had to. It was his duty.

"Sorry I'm late! I picked up donuts!" Jack burst into the room with his usual spark, carrying a giant box of what Ianto assumed were donuts. The team cheered and gathered around the box, fighting over the glazed and the Danishes, Gwen demanding the best one since she was injured.

Ianto dropped his pen, remaining frozen as he stared at Jack who most certainly was not there. It wasn't possible.

Jack had left.

Reconciling that with the physical presence of Jack was impossible and Ianto just stared as Jack walked forward, setting a particularly sticky pastry down in front of Ianto. Jack licked his fingers, one at a time, just inches from Ianto's face. He could smell Jack, smell the sweet sugar coating the fingers Ianto knew but didn't know.

This wasn't his Jack. But the smirk....it was a Jack he knew.

But he had left.

"Thought I could pretend a little longer." Jack whispered and winked and used a finger to close Ianto's mouth. Ianto could remember his touch. This wasn't the same touch, but it felt the same. "Eat your donut. You look like you've seen a ghost."

***

Everything changed after that day. Day one, the end of all days and yet the beginning. Alpha, omega. The end of the fighting, the beginning of the team. Or at least as much team as Ianto allowed. He still did the paperwork, still made coffee, but the tension between he and Jack (and thus, the team) was gone. Jack still wasn't _his_ Jack, but he was still Jack. It left Ianto on edge, relieved and wary, wanting so much to trust that this Jack was staying for all the right reasons but knowing deep within that the possibility still existed that he was staying for all the wrong.

What did Jack stand to gain?

Ianto could think of hundreds of reasons why Jack came back to the Hub, from fame, wealth and power following the battle (if they won) to curiosity to, and Ianto nearly made himself ill considering it, that this Jack could be a plant.

He really hoped it wasn't true - that Jack wasn't spying for Torchwood Four, that he hadn't been placed in the Archives and tortured just to get an 'in' into Torchwood Three. Jack knew too much, about Ianto, about Torchwood Three, about Avalon, about Mr. Black. Ianto didn't want to believe it. But it was just as easy an explanation for him staying as the fame and glory. And if that were the case, Ianto would ensure that Jack's death was not noble, nor proud.

There was also another reason, Ianto knew. The reason why Jack had stepped out of the SUV on Ianto's side when they reached Avalon. Maybe Jack trusted Ianto. Maybe he did care.

 _I love you, Ianto Jones.,_

It was a ridiculous notion. Jack hadn't known Ianto at that point. He hadn't known Ianto at all. They were just words spoken to console a dying man. Ianto understood that. He accepted it. But there was a tiny, selfish voice inside that begged Ianto reconsider his dismissal of that possibility.

Ludicrous, but Ianto knew he wanted it to be true.

Nearly four months passed, and Jack was Jack and the others were ... typical Torchwood Three. Gwen healed from her injuries and amazingly, went on holiday. Ianto couldn't remember the last time anyone at Torchwood Three went on holiday. Ianto knew why she went - Mr. Black had been asked and had granted permission - she refused to lie anymore to Rhys and it was either that or Retcon her and set her up with the police again. She told Rhys about Torchwood over that holiday, and when he calmed down from the initial shock and denial, proposed.

They had a wedding to attend in three month's time.

The tunnels had been scanned and cleared following Ianto and Gwen's encounter. No dragon had been found. No weevils, either. UNIT and the RAF were aware of something classified taking to the skies and to report any unusual sightings. Nothing had yet been reported. Not even a blip on the radar.

It wasn't like they had forgotten the danger that lurked, but Ianto could feel the team relaxing after months of no further sign of a threat. They knew it still existed; they knew that the dragon still lived. But maybe it wasn't the threat that Ianto had feared. Maybe it was a fluke.

Ianto knew better; he could still feel the slick black creeping in and poking at his mind.

Tosh had found herself a boyfriend, though Ianto didn't know if he fully approved. It wasn't that he was a criminal alien banished from another planet and Ianto feared for Tosh's safety. On the contrary, Ianto didn't believe Tosh could be safer. But ... it was Jean-Luc. Ianto feared what stories Tosh might be hearing. Every now and then, she came in with a smile and a laugh for Ianto and he immediately went to his mobile, dialing Jean-Luc to find out what he had told her now. It wasn't fair. He was Mr. Black, for pity's sake. Tosh wasn't supposed to know what he and Jean-Luc had gotten up to when they had been young.

But, she was smiling. As was Jean-Luc, when Ianto saw him. Goofy, stupid grins on both their faces.

It didn't seem fair, but Ianto supposed he could live with it.

Owen had been rather brilliant of late, not that Ianto doubted the man's intelligence but so often it was easy to forget when he was acting the obnoxious twat he usually was. He'd taken a shine to the research aspect of his job and had created a chemical profile for not only the dragon itself but the flame fuel. Wasn't of earthly origin, though he did mention something about Kallikinos, Greek fire, Nobel Prize and buying his own island with the millions he'd make. Ianto quickly reminded him of the non-disclosure agreement he had signed upon joining Torchwood; Owen had been inconsolable for days.

And Jack. Jack had become a constant in Ianto's life after that conversation on the rooftop; sometimes Ianto wondered if the man doubted his ability to lead because of his age, other times he thought Jack simply was obsessed. When not hunting down various debris and spacial drift which floated through the Rift or chasing down weevils who seemed to be as active as they had during the Billis days, he was assisting Ianto's research or freeing him up so he could attend to Avalon duties. A stress relief, if Ianto wasn't so concerned about the questions concerning Jack's motivations or what near-death stunt he'd pull next. Add to that the resumed sexual interest and Ianto could almost believe the real Jack had returned. He fended Jack off, though, no matter how far Jack pushed the teasing and innuendo. Ianto had practice, after all, with his Jack.

Ianto was almost never alone. Jack had taken to joining Ianto on the rooftops to invade even those personal, private moments. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they just stood there, watching out over Cardiff. When it wasn't Jack, it was Jean-Luc or Stephen, like they were trading off babysitting duties. Granted, it was mostly business excuses, but Ianto was beginning to feel smothered. That tension was almost worse than the building itch that _something_ was coming. It crept under Ianto's skin, making him wary of the slightest movement, the softest of noises. He hadn't felt this jumpy since before discovering the faeries were watching. They still were, though Ianto had grown used to their presence. It was almost a comfort, really. Jack had found a few of the petals they left behind and was suspicious until Ianto explained a bit of who had left them. Jack didn't know of the faeries, Ianto learned, at least not yet. Ianto answered what questions he could, but they mostly consisted of "I don't know."

Ianto knew they killed Estelle, however. He didn't tell Jack of that, though.

Because of the smothering, Ianto didn't make official his one day off every year; he simply didn't show up for work. This year was different. He had different responsibilities and felt the pull to return. He didn't know why this year, maybe it had to do with what he'd spoken to Gwen so many months back. Maybe it was a need to feel like he was taking responsibility for his past instead of avoiding it.

Maybe it was just time.

The drive to London was filled with the Doors blasting from his speakers in an attempt to distract himself from the approaching city and the anxiety creeping into every bone and muscle. He desperately did not want to return to the site. It had been years since he'd last seen it, but those years had brought a sense of security, a distance from the horrors and the near loss of everything. Now, it seemed all the more pertinent for him to return, to see what human arrogance and greed had nearly resulted in, but all the same, the victory won by humankind against invasion that day. Maybe the Doctor had helped, maybe he hadn't. But Ianto still considered it a triumph.

And as he stepped out of his car to see the place where Torchwood One had stood so proud as it reached for the heavens, Ianto remembered the consequences.

The gleaming building was gone, razed to the ground with a public park built in its stead. People milled about, admiring the statues or sitting at the fountains scattered among the saplings and flowers. The past's horrors had been effectively erased, creating a haven for life and beauty. It was almost...peaceful. He could see Torchwood One overlaying the green, however, seeing what was and what is in a single breath, marring the beauty.

Resolutely, he walked a path to the monument he'd heard of but never seen, recognition of the fallen while defending Britain. Of course, it was no more than the Torchwood symbol on a plaque where the front entrance had once been, but it was enough to steal Ianto's breath, remembering all the lives taken

Susanna Nichols, 32, bioengineer. Clint Hueser, 45, Intelligence. Maybell Case, 54, chemist. _Lisa_.

All remembered by a single plaque, their lives summed up and accounted for by the Torchwood symbol.

Kneeling, he placed the bundle of white roses by the marker, not 796 stems, but a bloom for every department, even the counsellors. Not to symbolize purity or innocence, because he knew Torchwood One had been anything but. But more, cleansing of spirit, whether his or Torchwood's or all those who had died, he wasn't sure and didn't care to ponder.

He should really look into the families, see how they were faring. Ms. White had set up a fund, but Ianto had had little time to worry about that.

Or rather, he had just been good at avoiding it.

"Excuse me, sir? Sir, just what do you think you're doing?"

Realizing he was being addressed, Ianto stood and turned, facing his interrogator.

Interrogators.

A crowd of twenty gathered near him, a woman with her hands on her hips the one Ianto assumed had spoken. The group was quite the mixed bunch; a couple were smartly dressed, others in street clothes and still more clothed in ragged, tattered clothing, appearing for all intents and purpose a month out from their last bath. Some appeared in good health, others in various stages of illness or disorder from the way the one man's eyes focused on his shoes, speaking with no one. As the crowd shifted, Ianto noted that one woman was missing an arm, a man his hand, another man his left eye, covered by a patch. This group....

These people were Torchwood One.

Ianto recognized them, even the ones in the most failing states of health. He knew their CVs, he'd studied their bios and memorized their pictures. They were the survivors, the few who'd lived when so many had died. This must be the result of the support group, though Ianto wondered where the other four survivors were. He swallowed the guilt, knowing as head of Torchwood he should know, but he was too startled by running into the very people he'd last seen in the halls of Torchwood One that he was struck speechless.

That, or it could be the appearance of the group, all in varying shades of recuperation and grief, both haunted and united by their shared past.

He wasn't prepared for this. He hadn't planned on meeting anyone from Torchwood One.

Fighting off the panic clawing at his throat, the woman, Sophia Owens (reception), who had spoken to him before looked just as shocked as Ianto felt as she stared at the roses he'd placed on the monument. Her face lit up eventually, recovering her ability to speak quicker than he could manage. "Ianto? Ianto Jones, am I right? Bloody hell, you're alive! It's Ianto Jones! From Intel!"

She turned from speaking to the crowd before cautiously approaching Ianto, treating him like the skittish cat he felt. She had experience, it seemed, dealing with the survivors. Ianto straightened from his surprise and pushed aside the panic. There was no need to feel fear, though a certain amount of guilt replaced it. He should be seeing that these people receive the best treatment and care from Torchwood, not leave them to fend for themselves after such trauma.

"Sophia Owens. It's good to see you." He reached out for her, disregarding her polite extended hand and drew her into a hug instead which she enthusiastically returned. He couldn't remember ever meeting her before, but she acted as though they were family; perhaps they were, forged through desperation and sorrow rather than any sort of blood tie or working relationship. Ianto could feel her crying against his heavy sweater he'd thrown on that morning, in what response he wasn't sure but he held on to her, holding her as others greeted him, introducing themselves and touching. He didn't understand the touching. Some touched his shoulder, others touched his arm, still yet another woman (Bertie Finnegan, Archives) awkwardly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek.

He was pretty sure he had her bright red lipstick on his skin as a result.

Some members of the group were more reserved, hanging back or ignoring him all together, choosing instead to touch the marker and mumble thoughts to the ones they'd lost. They all fit within this small area, all the survivors of Torchwood one.

So many had died.

"I'm sorry," Sophia finally said, brushing off Ianto's sweater when she pulled away. This woman he didn't even know, crying in relief to see him. It was hard for Ianto to accept. "It's just.... we'd assumed you were dead. We haven't heard from four others, either. Lost contact with Simone over a year ago. But you're here! You're alive!"

And now Ianto felt remorse for never contacting the survivors to let them know he lived and was in Cardiff. But there had always been Lisa. He knew he needed to tell them about Simone, or at least of her fate, but he wouldn't spoil the tone of the group now. He'd wait until the end of his visit. "I'm in Cardiff, now, working for Torchwood Three."

"Torchwood Three! Why that's where-"

"Jack."

"Do you know him?"

"Lovely man. Such a fine arse!"

Sophia and the other women (and two men) around him giggled and Ianto had to smile at the power of that single man. Jack seemed to charm everyone he ever encountered. "You should see it in a wetsuit," Ianto winked, using his own learned charmed from the days spent in the Information Center chatting with lost tourists and others who generally just wanted someone to talk to. They laughed and cat-called in response, just as Ianto intended.

"I swear, all you lot do is gossip." A man dressed in a tailored suit stepped forward, extending his hand. "Baxtor Hamilton, Accounting. I work in investment banking now."

Of course he did; Ianto remembered the probe into his assets by Intelligence. Ianto's boss was certain he was illegally squandering away thousands in Torchwood funds, Ianto had discovered the man was just brilliant when it came to finances. Thus why he had initially been hired by Torchwood, of course. How quickly people forgot. Ianto smiled and shook his hand. "A pleasure. Do you, ah, come by every year?"

"Course we do, luv," grinned Bertie, who Ianto took cautious note to stay away from. He'd seen that look in women's eyes before, about the time they began to tell him about their daughter/son/niece/nephew who would be just perfect for him.

"We all go for tea after we meet up here," chimed in Josh Michaels (computer tech).

Sophia interrupted before Josh could continue, "liar! We all go to the pub and get completely pissed. Care to join? Goes on Torchwood's tab."

Ianto looked around at all the expectant faces and those too furrowed in trauma to ever smile again and Ianto found himself agreeing before he could reconsider. That day was still a horror, still etched in everyone's minds and haunting their dreams, but today was white roses and Ianto couldn't run from this aspect of his life and duty any longer.

"I'd love to."

***

It had been about halfway back to Cardiff when Ianto made up his mind.

Torchwood London would be rebuilt.

There was need for a Torchwood presence in London, there always had been. And with the coming threat, maybe it would have a chance to get running before they were attacked, providing another resource and ally.

Ianto had no clue how to recruit people without posting a help wanted sign for "a secret organization that no one is to know about but sign on and we guarantee your life will never be dull or boring," but he knew it had to be rebuilt . A different location in the city, a different purpose, with a code of conduct signed by all preventing a return of Torchwood One's fate.

And he knew the people who he'd put in management.

He was lost in contemplation of the how's and the why's, much less an argument for the Queen as to why Torchwood London needed to be rebuilt, as he closed the front door of his flat. He felt scruffy; he hadn't bothered shaving that morning but as it was his day off, he felt entitled to a day without shaving. And a day without a suit. His jeans and sweater had made for comfortable driving, and that day was all about not thinking business but thinking personal. He'd needed time away from the structured, put-together Ianto he normally portrayed for his coworkers, but today was his and tonight he felt emotionally exhausted.

The bottle of whiskey and Chinese take away in his hands were evidence. No patience or countenance to cook.

"I hope you got enough for two, I'm starving."

Ianto nearly dropped the goods in his hands when he heard Jack's voice from his couch, his typical snark but far softer than Ianto had heard from this Jack. How Jack had gotten in...no. Ianto knew better than to question that. Jack just would. "If you like Moo Goo Gai Pan. It's my favorite and all I ordered."

Jack just jumped from the couch with a smile and urged Ianto into the kitchen, filling the air with nattering about the day as they sat at the table to eat. Ianto didn't mind, it was actually kind of pleasant while they ate, distracting him from the full force of the day that was certain to hit him at some point. It had been easier than he'd expected to return, not something he'd wish to do daily but maybe...maybe he would return next year as well.

"And then I caught Tosh and Myfanwy having sex in the pterodactyl's nest."

Ianto blinked, staring at the chopsticks he held motionless for who knew how long, uncertain whether or not he had heard Jack correctly. "I assume they used protection?" was the best he could come up with, setting the chopsticks down and pushing his half-eaten plate away.

Jack laughed, a rich sound echoing off all the corners of the kitchen. "Not paying attention, were you?"

"Not really." Ianto admitted, assuming Tosh and Myfanwy really hadn't had sex in the pterodactyl's nest, but he'd double check the CCTV footage to make sure.

"I was a bit surprised when you didn't show up to work today. Got an earful from Owen about my insensitivity when I asked where you were. He actually threw a book at me."

"Sorry." But Ianto really wasn't as he poured two glasses of whiskey after he'd thrown the leftovers in the fridge. He couldn't have done what he did today with Jack hanging on his shoulder. Or flirting with everyone. Oddly enough, Ianto felt remarkably selfish in wanting the day for himself. There had been no room for Jack there, in the gardens or in the pub. "I assume you're not leaving."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Ianto took that to mean Jack was not leaving and he handed the second glass to Jack as he walked to the living room to sit on the couch, bottle of whiskey in hand. Jack followed, sitting beside him on the couch. "Hold up, Owen threw a book at you? Didn't know he could read."

Jack snorted as he took a sip of whiskey but wasn't deterred by Ianto's deflection. "You survived. I read the reports. Nearly 800 died, but you survived."

Closing his eyes, Ianto took a deep breath as he rested his head on the back of the couch. It had been almost easy talking with the other survivors who all knew each other well enough to tease and joke. He'd actually heard the Dalek's weapons referred to as 'toilet plungers' and the Cybermen's conversion units as 'NHS-sanctioned cosmetic surgery.' He'd laughed till he'd cried after getting over his initial hesitation. After all, the man who'd joked about it had only one eye. If anyone could joke about conversion units and cosmetic surgery, it'd be him. "Didn't quite feel like dying that day."

"But you were willing to die for me."

"Yes," Ianto replied simply, downing the glass of whiskey and pouring another. The combined alcohol of the day was sure to rot his liver, but this day was his. No Jack or questions were going to deter him from making this day his. Even if it was to drink until he passed out on the couch, as per his usual Anniversary days. "I rescued one from Torchwood One, my girlfriend. Sneaked her into the lower levels of Torchwood Three after my transfer. She wasn't fully converted, but I was certain..." Ianto stared at his glass, swirling the dark amber liquid before continuing, "I died the day she escaped. Quite literally, actually. You brought me back."

"And I didn't know you had a Cyberman tucked away in the basement?" At Ianto's negative response, Jack's grin broadened. "Just when I think I have you figured out, Ianto Jones..."

"I nearly restarted the Earth's destruction. I hardly think that's anything to smile about."

"But it didn't happen. And you tricked me. Trust me, Ianto, for whatever anger there was, I was equally impressed that you managed to con me, if not slightly scared that it wouldn't happen again."

Ianto didn't know if that really helped his state of mind, but apparently he had just impressed this Jack. He wasn't so certain it was a good thing. "I didn't set out to deceive you. I wanted to save what I could, to save Lisa. I failed."

"So you failed to save a partially-converted Cyberman." Ianto looked blankly, if not angered, at Jack and wondered where this now-serious man had come from. "If you hadn't been focused on saving Lisa, would you have transferred to Cardiff?" At Ianto's negative head shake, Jack continued, "you would have stayed in London, possibly even working for your mother and we know how that turned out. Not to mention, you wouldn't have run Torchwood Three in my absence - yes, I'm aware that you stepped in for myself. And you rescued me, Avalon and destroyed Torchwood Four. I'd say it's a damned good thing you came to Cardiff, intentions or no."

He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again, opting to take a swig of whiskey instead. Put like that, his move to Cardiff had been a positive. But maybe a different Secretary would have been a better choice, maybe one more experienced. And that was the hazard of playing what-ifs. Ianto could drown himself in what-ifs all night. All the same, fates seemed to be watching out for him, twice with Rani, once with Jack, though even Ianto wasn't sure how he managed to escape death in the Battle. "I don't know how I survived London. I remember only flashes, I remember fire and screams."

"Don't think it matters how you did, only that you did."

Strangely enough, Ianto couldn't disagree. With victory came consequences, even ones as convoluted as his victory of life during the Battle. He wasn't sure that it was the best way, but it was the only path now in hindsight. Since he didn't have an answer, he turned on the telly instead, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with not-Jack, a man whose very existence within time didn't matter so much as that he was present within Ianto's.

  



	5. Coal-Black Cinder

Ianto rang his father while he flipped through requisition forms and pages of chemical equations, symbols, diagrams, and notes that should have made sense but in the waking hours of the morning after yet another sleepless night, the numbers and letters might as well have been gibberish.

Broderick would be awake, though. He was always at his store at a ridiculous hour to get the shop ready for the day, but Ianto knew it was code for sampling the day's pastries with a fresh mug of coffee while reading a worn paperback novel.

Pleasantries out of the way, Ianto didn't wait for conversations about the weather, his job, or the number of sunny days in Cardiff. He didn't have time for that, not really. Not when he was preparing for battle. "Mom knew she was going to die, didn't she." Statement, not a question. It had taken Ianto a while to feel strong enough to sift through those memories of Avalon and the conversation with his father, but he'd finally filtered through them. Details about the assailant at the hospital were catalogued with the woman who had tried to take Rani -- neither Torchwood Four employees, but given the information about Tiffany Woodbridge, Ianto would say that Torchwood Four was recruiting. A frightening prospect. His father's lack of surprise, however, had been moved from the unexplained aspects of his father to the understood. _"So it comes to this."_ "And she told you."

His father's silence was all the acknowledgment Ianto needed. Of course it wasn't outside the realm of possibility -- Ms. White had had clairvoyants living just a door away.

"What else did she tell you?" Ianto heard the voice of his father echo through his mind, forgotten shadows of the past. _"But I know you'll do what's best."_ "What do you know?"  
Ianto heard the distinct sounds of his father taking a drink of his coffee, reminding him of the pot kept warm on the counter in his kitchen. Owen had actually told him to lay off the coffee a bit after a physical revealed an elevation in blood pressure and borderline anemia. A product of stress, Ianto knew, but he had promised Owen to take better care of himself.

He chased an iron supplement with an entire pot of coffee that night, just to spite Owen.

"No more than you, I imagine."

Rubbing his temples, Ianto refrained from banging his head on the surface of the table. "She knew and did nothing to prevent it."

"Maybe she knew and did everything she could to ensure that it happened."

"What?" Ianto felt more than heard his voice escalate despite his best measures not to wake the individuals sleeping in the next room. Jack and Stephen had both grabbed available surfaces for sleep at various points in the night, after extracting confirmations from Ianto that he would get some rest as well. _"Be careful, son."_ He refused to believe it. There was no ... she wouldn't have put the lives of the children at risk. She wouldn't have chosen that; Ianto knew with a certainty she wouldn't risk the children of Avalon. There had been far too many deaths -- Lana's club, at Avalon, the Guardians protecting those who wished not to stay at Avalon ... she wouldn't have made those sacrifices for sake of some greater good.

Speechless, Ianto sat back in his chair as he tried to formulate a response not crafted from caffeine-fueled nerves or the sugar buzz from the chocolate bar, certainly not on Owen's approved diet, registering but ignoring Stephen and Jack who had joined him in the kitchen. His stomach rolled as he considered the possibilities and all that had transpired during the tenure of Ms. White at Avalon and Torchwood, a notion so repulsive that Ianto could hardly choke out the words. "The Battle. Did she work to ensure Torchwood One's destruction as well?"

His father's sigh traveled through to Ianto's ear. "No future is certain, Ianto, you know this. Your mother made her choices and it's not up to you or I to determine which were right or wrong. How can we, since time is left before us, our own lives to live?"

Ianto stared at the door of his fridge, the white edges blurring and blending with its surroundings until just a fuzzy white mass was all that remained. Not a fridge, just a form lacking meaning when all the meaning was held within the name. Is that how his mother had viewed her life, decisions forming a path marked by blurred objects all interconnected and fluid? Even the Battle, small and minuscule when one stepped back from linear time to see the whole rather than the moment identified by a name.

He'd never felt so small. Or so lost. "Who are you, Dad?"

"Ah, but that's not the proper question," his father replied. "What you are asking, Ianto Llacheu Jones, is who are _you_ , and that is an answer known only by you."

He hung up on his father, forgoing proper manners in his frustration. Ianto stared at the phone, hesitating for a moment before throwing it at the white mass; a refrigerator by name, a solid object capable of shattering electronics by occupation. He watched as the cordless broke, plastic parts splintering and flying in direction and speed proportioned to the velocity and angle in which it was thrown. The action cost Ianto his home phone, but at the same time, made him feel moderately better, though he was no closer to answers than when he had first phoned his father.

"Good morning to you, too, Sunshine," Jack drolled from the doorway, arms crossed and leaning so much like the Jack Ianto knew that he was once again almost fooled by the similarities. Stephen didn't say anything, just handed a broom to Ianto without question.

***

Ianto tuned out the recapped reports by Owen, Tosh, and Gwen as to Torchwood's preparation status. Following his discovery of the chemical composition of the fire's fuel and the beast itself, Owen had taken the alien DNA and the chemical formulas and created an enzyme he claimed would break down the peptide bonds of the alien but because of alien protein structures would remain inert when encountering anything native to earth. Ianto doubted the complete accuracy of the statement, but lab tests performed on various substances (including Owen's own skin in an act of defiance to Ianto's questions. "Oi! Who sat through dreadfully boring organic chemistry here, you or me? Right, that would be me. So sod off and stick to coffee.") demonstrated a relative truth to Owen's claims.

Owen hadn't been alone in his research. A geneticist recommended by Sheppard ("he's Scottish, you'll at least understand him when he gets excited") had assisted at Mr. Black's request, although everyone else believed him to simply be a native of Glasgow and knowledgeable in the field. Oddly enough, despite Owen's initial protests at having a secondary researcher on the project, the two had developed a remarkable rapport, even if their communications were via email and phone since Sheppard refused to permit his scientist to come to Cardiff ("he's been through enough, I'm not having him involved in any of the crazy shit you guys in Cardiff have going on").

Despite the directive of Torchwood, Ianto had believed the information far too important to maintain only within the lands of Britain. He had sent the formulas as well as the production notes and dispersal units to the twelve other nations within his small consortium. He hadn't told them what it was for specifically, only that he strongly advised the synthesis of the compound and engineering of the units in anticipation of a possible future invasion. The other leaders, amazingly, hadn't questioned his directive as they understood the secrecy and paranoia that they all operated under, only requested that they be informed if and when the invasion began. Ianto really didn't think that there'd be a doubt once it started.

If it did.

He was certain it would, just that it was a matter of time. It was nearly nine months since the destruction of Torchwood Four, over four months since he and Gwen had discovered the dragon in the pipes.

Ianto was surprised Jack was still around. His time, even if Ianto had held him to his agreement, had long expired. But he was still there, still leading Torchwood Three and believing Ianto's conviction that a battle was coming. He'd asked Ianto once about what he'd meant when Ianto had questioned his father about who he was. Whether Ianto was simply trusting Jack far more than he ought because the lines between his Jack and this one were becoming more blurred daily, or if it was simply because he had grown reckless following the continued stress of anticipation, Ianto had responded that he didn't know anything more than his father was not from this time. Jack had taken it in stride and, over far too many glasses of whiskey one night, created wild tales of who he might be, from banished tyrants to rogue sons of kings to lost travelers, each getting more absurd as Jack's imagination ran wild. Apparently, Jack had enough galactic experience to have a vivid imagination. And quite the romantic streak, truth be told. Ianto would never have pegged his Jack or this one to hold such values, but it snuck into conversation occasionally, making Ianto grin at the extremes within the stories. When Jack weaved Ianto's father into a sordid tale of a prince on the run from the blushing virgins he'd "educated" and in search of his one true love, Ianto had finally laughed at the absurdity between that idea and his father -- much to Jack's delight as he preened like his only goal had been to make Ianto laugh.

Perhaps, it had.

Jack confused Ianto, wavering between obsessed stalker, concerned "boss," and indifferent, arrogant self-righteous twat, as Owen preferred to call him. Jack continued to maintain that the team meant nothing, that he was still around only for the kids, but sometimes, like the occasions when Jack dragged him out of the Hub for dinner because Ianto needed to get out more or to Lana's recently rebuilt club (though she was leaning more towards karaoke instead of comedy, of all things, though some singers Ianto rather believed were comedy acts) or to Ianto's with Stephen to study and build strategy to defend Cardiff in case of attack, sometimes it made Ianto question the truth of Jack's denial and his motivations. Not that Ianto still believed them malicious, but he wondered why Jack still stayed, even after nine months.

Immersed in quiet contemplation, Ianto jumped at the sounds of the obnoxious ring bleating throughout the Hub. It was loud enough to disrupt their morning meeting, but then, Ianto had designed it that way.

His stomach sank into his shoes as he pushed aside his chair, racing for the phone that lit with each ring. Over, and over. The others were confused and shouting their questions over the loud tones; they hadn't even noticed the addition of the phone, but Ianto knew.

He knew it shouldn't be ringing.

Quickly, he recited his code, smiling a bit in response to the identifying code he received in return. "Sheppard. I take it this isn't a personal call?"

"Mr. Black, I don't suppose you're aware of two ships above Cardiff, are you?"  

The dead weight of his stomach in his shoes was the only thing preventing him from racing to Tosh's desk to run a scan of the skies above their heads. That and the cord attached to the phone. He didn't understand it though; their equipment alerted them to anything foreign, especially now when Tosh had keyed it to its most sensitive levels. "Coordinates," Ianto demanded rather than asked, waving at Tosh to head to her set of computers. Ianto shouted Sheppard's answer to Tosh while he transferred the call to his mobile, racing to Tosh's workstation while Jack and the others gathered around. Tosh plotted them and ran varying scans, finally gasping when they revealed no ship, no substance, just a lack of anything in two areas of space. Two massive areas of nothing.

"We are now," Ianto deadpanned while Gwen swore and phoned Rhys to instruct him to come to Torchwood immediately. What good that would do when Torchwood would most likely be a primary target, Ianto wasn't sure, but he allowed Gwen the satisfaction of doing _something_ with a possible threat looming above their heads. Tosh squeaked (Ianto was fairly certain Jean-Luc would find that "cute") and pointed out a third abnormality in the scans, different from the other two. "Are you sure you haven't missed one, Sheppard? Our reports say three."

"Ah, well, there's an explanation for that. Don't suppose you'll let me in?"

Ianto frowned in confusion a moment, then pushed through the others to access Owen's desk, pulling up the CCTV footage for all entrances to Torchwood Three. A lone man in a non-descript navy blue uniform stood near the invisible lift, a mobile in his hand. "Three paces to your left, Sheppard. Then don't move." Ianto watched as Sheppard moved to the stone that would lower him into the Hub and entered the code to activate the lift.

He moved quickly to intercept, smirking in response to Sheppard's "cool!" as the lift finally reached the floor of the Hub. The mental image Ianto held of Sheppard failed to match the man's physical presence; for all Ianto had envisioned a square-jawed, burly, grey-haired military commander with an ease borne of experience and skill, he found himself face to face with a deceptively lithe, younger (older than Ianto, but younger than his father) man with a shock of dark hair in a scattered mess rivaling Jack's and a patch over his left eye. Not what he'd been expecting, the eye patch made him appear more rogue pirate than ex-military, but something in the hardened, hazel eye said he'd seen far more than his look belied.

Perhaps some of those stories he had told Ianto were true.

"Welcome to Torchwood Three, Colonel Sheppard. Ianto Jones," Ianto introduced himself, noting the awareness in Sheppard's eyes at the sound of his voice. He smoothly supplied the necessary information and hoped that Sheppard would follow his lead. "Mr. Black is away, but I'll notify him that you're visiting."

"Ianto, who's your friend?" Jack called from the railing; Ianto didn't miss the scowl, nor the deceptively casual posture as he watched Ianto shook Sheppard's hand, one hand resting on his sidearm. "And what's he doing in my base?"

If Ianto didn't know any better, he'd call Jack's tone "jealous."

Sheppard winked and Ianto knew his secret was safe; a quick straightening of his shoulders and Ianto led Sheppard to the others, providing introductions. "This is Colonel John Sheppard--"

"Retired," John drawled, and Ianto again wondered what part of the United States he was from; he certainly didn't sound like Wilson but then, Wilson hadn't really had a particular accent, either.

"Retired Colonel John Sheppard," Ianto corrected, "head of Torchwood's equivalent in the United States, covername JEM Aeronautics. Sheppard, Captain Jack Harkness, leader of Torchwood Three, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, and Gwen Cooper. While Jack was away, I took the liberty of establishing contact with their base," Ianto added when he realized the others were looking at him dubiously. He'd neglected that piece of information in his sheer relief that the ships had been spotted, forgetting that all Owen and Tosh knew of the base in the States was that they were the ones who had sent Wilson to spy on them.

"Tosh, set up the system to alert if those ships move, then join us in the conference room," Jack ordered. "Ianto? Are you expecting any more guests?"

Definitely angry, Ianto decided as he shook his head "no," knowing that he should have informed Jack of the United States base and the emergency line. It just hadn't crossed his mind to do so, and now Jack was angry. Definitely angry. Rightfully so, if Ianto was no more than a tea-boy. Jack was never one to be played the fool.

"Then let's adjourn to the conference room, shall we? Ianto, coffee for our guest?"

And Ianto felt once against the same pangs of dismissal as he'd felt when he'd first met Jack Harkness and with Ms. White, relegated again to his place of the lowest denominator, not as though Jack believed that his position, but to exert authority in the presence of one of his equals. He understood Jack's intent this time, however, nodding and quickly leaving to phone Stephen and make him aware of the situation. This was not a time to be angry with petty titles, much less who was in charge or fetching the coffee. And as Ianto believed himself correct in thinking, no time to be wasted on arguments.

They were here. And Ianto could only pray they were ready.

***

"--unable to ascertain their intent, but their geosynchronous orbit over Cardiff and lack of communication with the surface led us to believe they might be the invasion Mr. Black had warned us about."

Ianto entered the conference room carefully balancing a tray of coffee (tea, for Tosh) in one hand, his phone in the other. Stephen was on the other line, having been quickly debriefed and awaiting transference to the conference phone. Before calling Stephen, Ianto had alerted UNIT and the RAF of a possible imminent attack, as well as the Queen, namely to make sure she was under protection since she gave Ianto full support of any resource he requested or alert he was to broadcast in case of emergency.

Pausing to think about it, Ianto realized how awesome a power that was and how much it frightened him to wield it.

"Mr. Black for you, Colonel Sheppard," Ianto said by way of introduction, linking Stephen in through the polycomm in the conference room.

Sheppard smiled at Ianto and greeted "Mr. Black" over the speakerphone. "I was just updating your team on the situation. Twenty-four hours ago, we detected two anomalies approaching Earth at speeds inconsistent with asteroid or comet activity. Once the target location had been pinpointed, we dispatched our ship, the _Spes Nostra_ , to monitor their approach. After we had confirmation of arrival, I contacted Torchwood Three via our emergency communication system."

There was silence before Stephen (Mr. Black) spoke up. "You have a ship?"

***

Tosh's alert sounded while they were eating an early lunch, or rather, while everyone enjoyed their pizza in the conference room and Ianto sat far removed from them all, drinking a coffee and eating the salad Tosh had brought for her own lunch before Jack had decided they needed take-away and Sheppard had chosen pizza as their guest. He'd heard Sheppard questioning after him, Owen answering that he had an aversion to pizza, for medical reasons, and Sheppard's questions stopped.

At times, Ianto almost liked Owen.

Ianto dropped his fork back into the salad and was the first to Tosh's computer, pulling up the radar images of dozens of blobs separated from the two positions in space Tosh had identified as the alien craft (not picked up on radar, but circled all the same). The blobs quickly dispersed out of range, but six remained in Cardiff airspace.

Sheppard was speaking into a communications device with Ianto assumed was his ship, Gwen clung to Rhys (their wedding couldn't have been better planned, Ianto thought, just a week away), Tosh held on to Jack's shirt and Owen ... well, Owen was finishing his slice of pizza like he'd never see pizza again.

Quite the chance, actually.

Not wanting to wait for the images to appear on the CCTV, Ianto ran for the Hub door, trailed by the rest of the team who seemed to be following just to have something to do rather than stare at the dots on the radar. They all crammed into the lift (Ianto was fairly certain it wasn't made for seven adults but it didn't plummet to the lowest level, so he assumed the cables were stronger than the warning label listed), bodies pressing against bodies but no one spoke a word. No one needed to. The breathing was loud, however, drowning the silence in adrenaline-fueled pants. He was almost certain he could hear the heartbeats race in anticipation, but surely that was a trick of Ianto's ears. Gwen was in a panic -- she had seen what Ianto had seen had was rightfully frightened but the others ... they had no idea. They were waiting to see if it was as big a threat as Ianto had deemed it.

Big, literally. Even Jack was skeptical.

The lift dinged their arrival to the surface and they all ran down the hall and out the Information Center to stare at the sky. They weren't the only ones; passersby stopped and stared too once they realized people were looking into the skies, curious by nature to see what was attracting attention.

They weren't difficult to spot, the blips from the radar. Against a startling blue sky, the oblong shapes were easy to find, growing larger as they plummeted towards the ground, burning white-red with the heat of entry. Someone started screaming; Ianto didn't bother to determine who it was, it wasn't really important anyway. But once that one individual started, the chorus joined as the wave traveled down the street. Terror jumped from person to person like a twisted game of phone gossip Ianto had played as a child, repeating itself down the line until the person screaming really had no concept why they were screaming, it just seemed appropriate to add to the cacophony. He could hear screams all around, echoing mass fear he hadn't witnessed since Torchwood One, echoing a fear _he_ hadn't felt since Torchwood One. Not the Brecons, not the sewers, not any of the lesser aliens and demons they'd faced nor the labs at Torchwood Four; nothing held a candle to the strangling grasp of fear as it clawed at the throat and turned hope to ash.

The others, they thought they knew. They thought they understood. Maybe Abaddon had come close. But one can't witness the aftermath or read a report and feel that same trapped, ultimate terror for one's self, for one's family and friends, and for those all over the world that one had never met and probably never would but shared in exchange of breath and life the same time, the same space. That feeling of unity with all the peoples of Earth, an undercurrent of existence, threatened by the witness of an unbeatable foe.

If they didn't understand it before, they would feel it now.

Ianto felt others stand beside him, Jack at his right shoulder (he could smell Jack's aftershave), Sheppard at his left (a block of navy blue, a uniform if Ianto tore his focus from the sky). He could hear Tosh and Owen behind them above the din of terror filling the streets. Gwen and Rhys stood beside Tosh, standing more a single unit than two -- Ianto didn't need to see to know, nor did he need Jean-Luc's gifts; if his Jack were standing beside him instead of the other Jack, Ianto could see himself doing something similar, even if it was just to touch Jack's greatcoat.

Pathetic, he knew, and far beneath his title. But the Ianto of old, the Ianto with fewer responsibilities and naivety on his side, that Ianto still existed somewhere beneath the aged shell hardened by Torchwood. And that Ianto trembled as he watched.

God, he wished his Jack was there.

He wished Ms. White was still alive.

Actually, Ianto just wished he was wrong. Maybe he was.

"Jack..."

The sound of Gwen's voice drew Ianto from his wishes to the heavens; the white-hot oblong objects now cooled to a metallic dark silver sheen glinting sun off their curves.

It was a sunny day in Cardiff, Ianto's mind rebelled. This should not be happening on a sunny day in Cardiff.

Ianto saw what Gwen's voice had feared, a split running the length of the object, visible despite the distance. God, they were large and moving at speeds Ianto's mind could only calculate as "fast," if he had time to figure the trajectory and triangulate from his position and another point, but the objects were falling at too fast a rate, velocity setting course for impact with the Bay. It wasn't the landing that concerned Ianto, though, no matter how large the impact and subsequent shockwaves. The split worried him, pictures of napalm bombs burning across his mind like wildfire. They shouldn't be standing there, watching. They should be down in the relative protection offered by the Hub, preparing to battle whatever was coming. But his knees were locked, his feet rooted to the pavement, and Ianto couldn't help but stare along with everyone else.

Some protection Torchwood was against alien threat, staring into the skies like watchers of a train wreck.

It wasn't fuel that poured out of the split as Ianto had initially believed, a precursor to an explosion the likes of which Cardiff had never seen, nor would ever be aware of given that the combination of six explosions would obliterate all of Southern Britain, much less Cardiff. No, as the silver sides opened innocent as a ladybird taking off for flight, Ianto was certain of one thing.

He was right.

The halves fell away, shed armor no longer needed for protection as the threats revealed themselves in black-red blossoms unfurling in the sky. Their wingspans were massive, Ianto estimated at least forty meters as they spun out from their cocoon and soared on drafts of wind. Black wings, talon-tipped, stretched thin over a ribbed skeletal structure like the corset Gavin had purchased for Elaine after asking Ianto's opinion while shopping in London (that conversation had been awkward at best, but Gavin swore later that the purchase had resulted in the twins. Far more information than any brother or uncle needed to know).

The black bled into crimson over the expanse of the beast's chest, proud and bold and making no effort to blend into the sky as the scarlet streaked up its neck. Warriors, Ianto noted, catching the first glimpse of the alien's head. unlike the few that had been on Earth for some time, pale to be mistaken for clouds in the sky. The head was a massive onyx block of bone and flesh, looking much like what Ianto had imagined a dragon to look like only with a protruding forehead framed by what looked like horns. A monstrous mouth filled with pointed teeth opened to let loose a roar that quaked the ground Ianto stood upon; the answering bellows shattered store fronts and rattled the autos in the streets.

Ianto hated being right.

The beasts fanned out over the city, one angling towards the Information Center where Ianto stood with the others. Someone had a hand in the back of his jacket, he assumed it was Tosh as Gwen had Rhys and Owen ... Ianto felt it best not to consider that it was Owen.

"Ianto. Don't suppose your base is fireproof?"

Ianto jumped at the sound of Sheppard's drawl, pulling his eyes away from the dragon's forelimbs (not at all like a Tyrannosaurus Rex, these were proportionately long and clawed) to nod at Sheppard. "Yes." Belatedly, he realized they were standing in the open, an easy target for the approaching alien. Put him in danger and he froze. He was rubbish at this leading thing. "Yes, of course. Quickly."

It didn't take much to get the team moving once the question had been raised; all of them remembered Gwen and Ianto's report. Sprinting for the Information Center's door, Ianto jerked it open and ushered everyone in, keeping a watchful eye on the dragon that was far larger than the one in the sewers could have been. This one was built for war, down to its clubbed tail -- not aerodynamic by any means, but then, they didn't have to be built for speed.

A black-red dragon.

The color of the icing dragon on his birthday cake almost two years ago.

He didn't have time to contemplate the coincidence, just pushed the heavy door leading to the lift shut as the Information Center burst into flames.

***

"We're tracking six dragons in Cardiff, five en route to London. Ianto? What's the status of UNIT and the RAF?"

Ianto joined the conversation at Tosh's desk, having used the excuse to notify the military units to alert all of the nations on the emergency band from the conference room. Hopefully he'd given them enough warning to be be prepared.

But really, how does one prepare for dragons?

"Deploying squadrons armed with munitions filled with the enzyme as well as standard missiles." Ianto took the proffered canisters and hefted the straps over his shoulders. He felt like a fucking _Ghostbuster_ with this setup (wouldn't Jean-Luc be amused?), but the packs had been one of the few methods of effective pedestrian delivery they came up with in the relatively short amount of time they had to prepare. Trials with launched weaponry failed, the heat generated by the launch destroyed the enzyme. The only thing that had worked were the modified flame throwers and slingshot-style delivery of the enzyme. Given they had no information on the protection or armor of the aliens, they hadn't wanted to depend solely on standard issue weaponry, though when they'd seeded the city with caches of weapons, Ianto had made sure they were well supplied with arms that, in Jack's terms, "made things go boom." But their first line of defense was the enzyme -- if it worked, though Owen and his Scottish cohort assured them it would.

The absurdity of the plan did not escape Ianto: they were going to fight dragons with water balloons. His nephews would be so proud.

"Sheppard?"

"My ship's staying in orbit over Cardiff," Sheppard said as he slung a sack of the "balloons" over his shoulder. His ship had some how teleported all of his gear into the Hub, from TAC vest to what looked like semi-automatic guns. Ianto still wasn't sure how that had worked but when he'd asked Sheppard, the man had just smirked. Damned national secrets. "A dozen pods are headed towards North America, but in response to Mr. Black's emergency broadcast, the U.S. and Canada have already launched intercepts. My crew's trying to figure a way past the two cloaked ships' shields, but so far, they haven't had much luck."

Ianto found himself on the receiving end of Jack's stare, not quite as intimidating knowing that this wasn't the Jack stare of old, but unnerving all the same. The man was plotting something and it didn't escape Ianto that this would be a most inopportune time for Jack to choose to leave. He could, Ianto knew; there was nothing tying Jack to this time and he'd long since stayed past his initial six month agreement. When they struck the streets, Torchwood Three would be left vulnerable to Jack or alien attack. Lacking alternative, Ianto returned the stare, hoping Jack would understand the lengths Ianto would go to seeking revenge if Jack should choose this moment to leave. At one time, his sister had threatened it, but Ianto was rather confident in himself that he would carry through if Jack ran now.

"Where is Mr. Black?" Gwen chimed in, splitting her attention between Ianto and Jack. The tension wasn't surprising; Ianto and Jack had been at odds since Jack had "returned," at least through the eyes of the others. But that Gwen would attempt to diffuse it, that was different.

"Returning from business in Glasgow. He should arrive in Cardiff shortly," Ianto supplied, not once looking away from Jack. To his credit, Jack never turned away either.

"Tosh and Owen, head to Cardiff Castle -- yes, Owen, you're going to fight dragons from a castle. If your position is compromised, your secondary location is Llandaff Cathedral. Gwen and Rhys, you're with me. We'll start with the beast who had the gall to destroy our Information Center." Jack paused, whether for dramatic effect or hesitation, Ianto wasn't sure. "Ianto, you're with Sheppard. Head east towards Splott and Rumney. Hopefully we can stave off the worst of it till the cavalry arrives."

His first impulse was to protest, strong as it was Ianto had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself silent. He was being separated from the team, and most importantly, from monitoring Jack. Every instinct, every cell of his being violently protested Jack's order, which Ianto could counter-instruct if he chose. He knew he could, could demand Jack stay with him, and send Gwen and Rhys off with Sheppard. But, he realized what Jack was asking.

Trust him.

Trust him not only to stay and fight, but trust his decisions. Jack could go with Ianto, but Ianto knew the captain didn't trust Sheppard to watch out for one Torchwood and one civilian. Ianto could go with them, but he couldn't maintain communications and coordinate the global response to the alien threat as Mr. Black unless he revealed it to Gwen, a prospect not exactly pleasing. Which left him joining Sheppard. And leaving Jack, trusting him with the team, trusting him with Torchwood Three, trusting him with Ianto's Jack.

Ianto wanted to, he really did. If it was his Jack, he'd trust without question in this situation. But Cardiff would burn, and he really didn't have another option.

He nodded, casting a glance at Tosh's monitor for the dragon's locations in the city. "The lift to the Plass looks clear, they seemed to be aware of the Information Center but not the Hub's location. I'll take Sheppard through the other exit, it'll sneak us into Splott."

"I thought there were only two entrances into Torchwood Three?"

Tosh was cute when she was perplexed, Ianto decided, making a mental note to share the image with Jean-Luc, perhaps minus the "cute" label as Jean-Luc was not a happy jealous man. Not that Ianto had any deigns on Tosh, but he could appreciate why Jean-Luc was so smitten. He smiled, refusing to comment on how or why he knew; they most certainly did not need a reminder of Lisa at this time. "I'll show you when we get back."

The group stood in silence, staring at each other as if everyone realized at the same time that this could be the last time they stood together. There were dragons topside; it wasn't every day one went to battle with beasts taller than a greater percentage of the buildings who breathed fire and wrecked destruction where they went.

"So, I'm supposed to say something inspirational and motivating, aren't I?" Jack asked, the frozen moment broken as shaky laughter filled the room. "Maybe a prayer?"

"Oi, a prayer from you, Harkness? You're--"

Ianto cleared his throat, cutting off Owen's tirade before the insults flew and they forgot to leave. He grabbed a "balloon" from Tosh's desk and began, struggling all the while to maintain a steady voice. "Oh Lord, bless this thy hand grenade, that with it thou mayest blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy."

Tosh's laughter shook the room, loud and echoing in the confused silence that followed. Trust Tosh to recognize the quote. She'd been around for the display at Torchwood Four, after all. Stepping forward, Tosh kissed his cheek, giggling all the while. "Just a harmless little bunny."

He winked and gave her a quick hug, awkward as it was with all their equipment and weapons. "Come back to us, Toshiko Sato," he quoted back, letting her go, hoping without doubt that his words would come true. If for nothing else, for Jean-Luc. He stood warily, watching with an arched brow as Owen's face cascaded through a variety of expressions until he finally cursed and hugged Ianto like he was a prickly hedgehog, stepping away nearly as quickly.

"I'm shite with burns. Don't get torched."

Coming from Owen, that could be a declaration of love. Ianto just grinned and shrugged away his surprise, tossing the extra "balloon" to the doctor. "Let's hope this miracle of yours works."

Gwen's stranglehold came next; Ianto knew she hadn't forgotten their adventures in the sewers. At least she'd have Jack and Rhys looking out for her, or rather, at least Rhys had her looking out for him. Above her head, he noticed Jack and Sheppard exchanging words, but he couldn't read their lips from that angle, and Gwen was distracting him anyways. "Take care of each other," Ianto gestured at both Rhys and Gwen, and the serious smiles said it all. "You have a wedding to attend in a week, don't want to be late for your own ceremony."

Rhys distracted Gwen with threats if she was late to her own wedding and Tosh and Owen exchanged hugs with the couple as well. It was funny, they faced life and death every day, this should be nothing new. Throwing themselves out in the line of fire, protecting the innocent inhabitants, it was common, really. But this, this was different. Ianto could taste it in the air (along with the faint hint of smoke from the burning Information Center, separated as they were by stone and a firedoor), he could feel the tension and the apprehension. The others realized, despite all their other earlier experiences, that this wasn't a game. The thrill was gone from their job. They finally _understood_. And perhaps that was a little bit scary. This was something he'd missed at Torchwood One, however, as coworkers had panicked and run screaming into the halls despite their experience. One never knew how they'd react to unimaginable terror. Torchwood Three was learning.

There was only Jack left of the team, and Ianto made no movement to broach the distance between he and Jack. Jack's conversation with Sheppard had ended and now it was just a return to staring; the others seemed to notice as well as the din grew quiet, the only sounds the steady trickle of water down the fountain into the pool. Ianto moved first, extending his hand to Jack in the only fashion he knew acceptable given the circumstances. It wasn't Jack. No matter how he wished him to be, this wasn't the man he had grown to care for, though the past months had given him more reason to care for the elder, if that were possible. He didn't like trusting Jack to the team, he didn't like leaving Jack to his own devices, but it was Jack and he had stayed when he could have left. Ianto at least had to commend the honor in that decision.

Honor seemed displaced as Jack refused Ianto's hand, opting instead to roughly pull him forward. Unbalanced by the equipment and the force, Ianto found himself in Jack's arms, hands holding his jaw steady as Jack pressed a hard kiss to his lips, moving so quickly Ianto had little time to react in protest or agreement. The lips were gone before Ianto could even blink in surprise; just a fleeting action, Ianto would question its actual existence if not for the silence in the Hub.

"Good luck," was all Ianto could think to respond, nodding once at Jack before he gestured for Sheppard to follow him into the lower levels of Torchwood Three towards the tunnels that would lead them to Splott.

It wasn't his Jack, but as Ianto licked his lips, he realized he still tasted the same.

***

"So, you and Jack?"

Ianto would have stumbled if not for Sheppard's steadying hand as they scrambled over the debris of a fallen housing unit. "No." Dusting off his suit trousers, Ianto amended, "Yes. In the past."

A dragon had certainly tore through the area prior to Sheppard and Ianto arriving, and for that Ianto was both frustrated and relieved. Frustrated they missed the beast, relieved that they did. He shouldn't feel that way -- he knew it was his duty to protect the citizens of Britain but guiltily, he felt a bit of relief for the reprieve, short but it might be. He'd be lying to himself to say otherwise.

"What happened?"

Stepping over charred ruins, Ianto considered the question. "He changed." Which, he did. On a time-scale.

"I changed into a bug once."

Ianto couldn't help but blink in surprise. Following conversations with Sheppard was nearly as difficult as Jack, though usually Jack's leaps in thought maintained a semblance of human normality, even if it did involve sex in impossible positions with multi-limbed aliens.

"What?" Sheppard grinned and adopted the worst English accent Ianto had ever heard. "I got better!"

Smiling despite himself, and not wanting to believe Sheppard for a moment, but at the same time, the manner in which he was accepting all the strangeness of the day led Ianto to believe that this was not an extraordinary circumstance. In fact, Sheppard seemed almost comfortable with it all. "Is that how you .. ?" Ianto touched his eye and gestured towards Sheppard's patch.

"Lost a bet, had to play pirates for the month." At Ianto's disbelieving look, Sheppard turned away, scanning the skies and the surface for what Ianto assumed was the dragon they tracked. "We became overconfident, overstepped our knowledge. We lost the city, but managed to save our people. An eye was a small price."

This time, it was Ianto who lent the hand when Sheppard started an ungainly slide down a pile of rubble. Ianto waited until Sheppard had found his balance again before checking his PDA for an update on Tosh's tracking program. Pointing in the new direction, Ianto shifted the pack on his shoulders and continued walking. "We lost nearly 800 when our arrogance superseded logic. For Queen and country." With a snort, Ianto tapped his PDA, pulling up the contact information for the twenty-four other survivors, staring at the numbers. He didn't need the device for recall, but it was good to stop and ponder the decision, seeing the names written in text like stars on a nameless monument. Forget the rebuilding of Torchwood One; he had a job for those in London.

"You're a lot older than you look, Mr. Black," Sheppard commented after a moment, pausing as they stopped for breath, the weight of their packs and weapons more than either was used to carrying.

Ianto grinned. "And you're a lot younger than you sound."

Sharp, barking laughter filled the air as Ianto punched in the first number.

***

"Remind me of the plan?"

Ianto dove out of the way as a section of the wall they were using as a shield collapsed. Sheppard landed right beside him, a louder thump as debris bounced off Ianto's back and shoulders -- mostly tiny particles but occasionally something larger struck him. He would be one massive bruise come morning, if they survived. A quick glance at Sheppard confirmed the man's state of relative good health; they were both covered in grime, small cuts, and coal-black cinder, but they were alive. "Head east. Defend Earth from alien invasion."

"Just making sure we weren't deviating." Sheppard grimaced and rolled to a seated position. Ianto took a deep breath then followed suit, rubbing a shoulder as he stood to look out the glassless window. The dragon had moved away from them for the moment, colliding with trees and crashing into buildings blindly. People were still running in a panic on the streets, but for the moment, the massive beast's attention was not on them; not while its leathery skin bubbled and oozed, its massive head thrashing wildly as it clawed at sightless eyes. It had seemed a good idea at the time: shoot the enzyme at the creature's eyes since they didn't have nearly enough to do immediate damage to outright kill the beast. The enzyme worked just as it was supposed to, destroying the proteins of the dragon hide; there was just a _lot_ of dragon to chew through.

Of course, once the animal was blind, Splott became the blind bull's china shop. A problematic solution, at best.

Ianto had located one of the caches of weapons, sealed behind locks the best thieves of Cardiff couldn't pick. They'd nearly exhausted the supply of ammunition fighting the dragon, bullets bouncing harmlessly off the dragon's hide until the enzyme had opened a patch, revealing the tissue to injury. Took a lot of bullets, though, and even with the help of a few brave citizens of Splott who insisted on picking up a gun and firing as well (Ianto's weapons training had not possessed Jack's seductive flair, mostly consisting of "safety off. Point. Shoot. Don't die.") they had yet to actually kill the beast. The rows of housing units had suffered for the battle; the bulging bony mass on the dragon's head acted as a battering ram, as did the club tail. Not to mention, the creature had a blast range of about fifty meters with its stream of fire. Took three minutes to recharge, but at this rate, there would be little left of Splott if they didn't bring down the beast.

George (at least Ianto thought that was his name, he couldn't keep the three men straight in his head what with the angry, injured dragon intent on killing them. He remembered Dolly, though, the brazen woman who'd come running out of her store front like a hellion, angry and shooting at the dragon after it had destroyed her store's sign. Ianto rather liked her) waved at Ianto and Sheppard from his sheltered location behind another ruined building; Ianto gave a half wave in return, acknowledging that they were okay. The man's eyes widened almost comically; Ianto thought it was just an expression, but no, the man's eyes grew almost larger than his face as he looked not at Ianto but up. Ianto closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then turned and looked up at the sky, the roof long torn away by the tail of their dragon Sheppard had taken to calling "Tim."

Dragons in full view were actually larger than they appeared.

This one (not Tim, gods, they'd gotten another) hovered above the structure, wings fanning a breeze reeking of sulfur and burnt timber, heated to a point just about boiling like the burn of jet engines from a hundred paces. Ianto felt the distinct reversal in the air current and grabbed onto Sheppard's uniform, pulling him to his feet and at an angle perpendicular to the dragon's aim. "Move!"

They sprinted over rubble, hurdling interior walls and furniture as the air exploded behind them. Clearing the structure, Ianto skidded to a halt, pointing to the right as Tim roared and backpedaled in agony, its taloned feet blocking their path and coming perilously close to squashing Ianto where he stood.

A scream of another sort drew Ianto's attention as he and Sheppard ran, angling in the direction of the remains of their weapons cache. The sounds of the fighter jets attracted the focus of the healthy dragon as well, and it launched itself into the skies towards the aerial resistance. The steady thumping rhythm of helicopter blades joined the symphony, music to Ianto's ears -- they were having enough difficulty with one injured dragon, much less two. And they were out of the enzyme, the flame throwing pack discarded long ago, their supply of "balloons" exhausted as well, splattered about Tim's hide and eyes.

Ducking under the broken, sagging door frame, Ianto scanned the remaining weapon as he absently answered his ringing phone. Rapid, excited Mandarin filled his ear and he calmly offered his advice to the Chinese leader on how to handle the four dragons in the skies of Beijing, all the while frantically searching for anything which would finally put an end to their battle with Tim. The Chinese government was hesitant to fire upon the dragons; Ianto did his best to dispel any notion of legend and tradition. The dragons were not gods nor spirits of ancestors nor champions of animal-kind. Ending the call with a terse "just kill the damned fire-breathing aliens" (roughly translated, of course. Ianto hoped the meaning was still applicable in Mandarin as it was intended), Ianto crowed his success as he held up a bazooka; ducking when Sheppard turned his gun on him and started firing. Not at him, Ianto noticed with a distinct lack of pain following the rapid gunfire and after he remembered to breathe, but beside him. Behind him. Ianto turned and stared at the Weevil lying in a bloody mess on the floor.

"What the fuck is that thing?"

"Weevil," Ianto said as he kicked the creature to make sure it was dead. Of course, a battle for the rights to Earth would not be complete without Weevils to complicate matters. Really, while the Earth was open and available for the taking, why not post an intergalactic sign pointing to Earth with a discount price blinking and squatter's rights for the unclaimed areas. "Denizens of the underground. Usually they're not out in daylight." Scowling, Ianto hefted the bazooka over his shoulder, grabbing the case of missiles to arm it. "Usually it's a bag and save, but at the moment, we hardly have the time to subdue, let alone cage."

An explosion in the skies caused both Ianto and Sheppard to look up after they left the ruins of the shelter, armed to the teeth with what few weapons remained. The dragon still flew ("Bill," Sheppard had named it) while fire and smoke danced on the wind, the remains of an aircraft tumbling to the ground.

"Shit."

Ianto nodded, setting the heavy case on the ground, their dragon still bouncing off buildings and running over autos like a bloody pinball machine. It launched a plume of fire wildly, luckily hitting nothing of consequence as the air burned. There were still jets in the skies, firing missile after missile, some loaded with the enzyme, some not. From Bill's pained roars, it sounded like damage was being wrought, but as they'd learned, a lot was required to take these things down.

His phone rang again, this time Germany on conference with France and Egypt, sharing their success in garbled streams of half-English and the language of the speaker's choice. They had tracked two dragons over Syrian and Iranian airspace; both France and Egypt had sent support to help defend those nations. Germany had launched planes of their own to assist Russia and the Scandinavian countries under attack. Their victories had not been without loss, but as Ianto discharged his gun into two charging Weevils threatening Sheppard as he loaded the rocket launcher, he realized that they might very well be winning this battle.

At the sounds of close gunfire, the leaders of Germany, France, and Egypt all began offering their assistance to Britain, willing to spare whatever forces necessary to help with the onslaught of over a dozen dragons terrorizing the single country. Ianto thanked them, but insisted they help the countries without military air support as the skies were fairly crowded over Cardiff and London (and hopefully Glasgow as well; he had yet to hear anything from Torchwood Two and he grew concerned).

He hung up in time to hear Sheppard shout at "yipee-ki-yay, mother fucker" (trust Sheppard to be a fan of John McClane) as he fired the bazooka at Tim. Ianto was so focused watching the trail of smoke as it spun towards dragon that the shockwave and blast from the skies knocked him to his knees. He looked up in time to see the remnants of a massive explosion not far above their heads, the jets and helicopters streaking away as fast as possible.

Holy shite. They'd killed Bill.

A secondary explosion rattled Ianto's ears just fractions of a second after the air had exploded above their heads, Sheppard's rocket had hit its target, ripping one wing clean off and tearing a gaping hole in the other. Ianto almost pitied the beast, thrashing about as it was and keening in pain. Almost, until the clubbed tail swept over his and Sheppard's heads, both men falling flat to the ground to protect themselves. Ianto grabbed the bazooka once the tail had found a building to thump, satisfying Tim's need for destruction for the time being. Quickly, Ianto prepped the launcher with the one remaining rocket, hoping that George and Dolly and the others were out of the immediate danger zone.

With Sheppard shouting curses behind him (at least, Ianto thought they were curses; sound was rather spotty), he darted towards Tim, firing his gun to attract the attention of the blind alien. Ears still ringing from the previous explosions, Ianto shouted taunts at the dragon while he fired bullets into the steaming, bubbling mass of flesh being consumed by the enzyme. The smell was terrible this close, the sour, rotting fumes coming off the dragon enough to make him vomit, but Ianto refrained, focusing instead on causing enough noise to distract the dragon from its pain. Sure enough, his plan worked and as Sheppard caught up to him, Ianto hoisted the weapon to his shoulder, waiting for the precise moment...

Between facing down the barrel of a gun and the stretched, toothed jaws of a dragon, Ianto would have to opt for the gun as his preferred method of sheer terror with the knowledge of possible imminent death. Tim's neck swung and stretched towards the sounds of Ianto's voice and as Ianto distractedly noted that the beast's throat was a bright shade of green, he pressed the trigger on the bazooka. He felt the recoil of the launcher as arms wrapped around his waist and Sheppard yelled in his ear. The curling trail of smoke from the missile formed a circle from Ianto's point of view and as it flew towards the green target, Ianto closed his eyes, pretending for a moment the arms around his waist were someone else's.

***

The shock of cool air forced Ianto's eyes open and he looked about in surprise, smelling the acrid smoke from the bazooka still resting on his shoulder but no hint of sulfur and, most importantly, feeling no percussion blast.

"Welcome aboard the _Spes Nostra_ , Ianto."

Still reeling from the change of environment to answer Sheppard, Ianto turned slowly to take in his surroundings, noting that Sheppard's hands were nearly as slow in pulling away from the grip about his waist. He was on a ship, the Bridge, if Ianto wasn't mistaken. The first thing he noticed was a panoramic view of Earth in her full splendor out the main window, looking innocent and pure in her blue-white-green marbled curve. Ianto stared, his breath struck by the sight, the ringing in his ears dulling as he heard a female voice asking questions and poking and prodding the observable injuries to Ianto's skin, the weapon on his shoulder disappearing to assist her efforts.

Other men and women, all dressed in the same navy blue uniform, raced about while frantically inputting data into tablet PCs and ship consoles unlike any Ianto had seen before -- not that he frequently boarded space ships to know what typical consoles looked like, but they definitely did not appear of Earth origin. An argument between a pony-tailed man and a man with a slightly receding hairline erupted in one corner; Ianto wasn't sure what it was about but he did have to smile at the creative derogatory terms the one used to insult the intelligence of the pony-tailed man. Something about the alien ships' shields, impervious to any weapon on board the _Spes Nostra_ , though the pony-tailed man argued that until they tried, they'd never know. Ianto found himself agreeing with the other's belief that to give away their position in space would be an irrevocable error, and almost added his comment when the fiery physician snapped another question at him.

"I'm fine, thank you for your concern. Please, if you'll excuse me." Turning to find Sheppard in heated conversation with another man, remarkably tall and clad in not the navy blue uniforms of the others but in leather and tunic revealing scattered tattoos and a few scars. He reminded Ianto of a lion with his mane of dreds and fierce expression. The conversation between he and Sheppard ended as Ianto approached. Ianto would have felt guilty for interrupting, but he had other concerns on his mind once he got past the shock and awe of _"I'm on a fucking space ship!"_ "Sheppard? I can't thank you enough for your crew's timely intervention, but I can't stay. If you'll please return me to Cardiff, I'm assuming what brought me here can send me back?"

The other man grunted and turned away, leaving an amused Sheppard behind. "He likes you."

Ianto wasn't quite sure how to respond. "I ... yes, well, pass my sincere thanks." Somehow, despite the cuts and bruises and ash, Sheppard still looked remarkably collected and calm. Ianto wondered if he exuded the same aura, or if that was something won by age and experience, not just the luck Ianto seemed to run on. Sheppard appeared to consider Ianto's request, like there was an option to his response, and Ianto's patience grew thin. "You have no right to keep me here."

Sheppard paused as he took the two bottles of water offered by one of his crew, passing one on to Ianto. He took a long pull from the bottle before answering. "I made a promise, you know. If you were in danger, I was to protect you through any means necessary. Including safe retreat aboard my ship."

Indignant fury boiled through Ianto, leaving him momentarily speechless as he scrolled through all the possible forms of painful retribution he would exact upon one Captain Jack Harkness when he returned to Earth. So that had been the purpose of Jack and Sheppard's conversation: to make sure Ianto was carefully tucked away while Britain burned and fell to the conquests of their alien invaders. "I swore an oath when I accepted my position, Sheppard," Ianto seethed with anger but he maintained a steady, cool voice, "to protect the peoples of Britain through any means required. I will not cower in fear while my country suffers attack from bloody fluffy bunnies or monstrous fire-breathing dragons!" So much for the steady cool, Ianto absently noted while his voice escalated and the others stopped to stare at the argument. "I demand return immediately or I will commandeer your bloody ship and steer it back to Cardiff myself. Have I made myself clear?"

A delighted smirk grew on Sheppard's face and Ianto was torn between hitting the man and doubting his ability to deliver a proper threat. "I figured you'd say that. S'why I asked Ronon to grab his coat."

The tall, fierce man returned, apparently this Ronon as he was now clad in a leather duster-looking coat and wielding an unusual gun that his Jack would probably drool over. "Can I kill things now?" Ronon's voice was more a low growl, unsurprising really given his appearance. Ianto was more surprised by how eager the man was to join the fight against the dragons. "I"m tired of doing nothing."

Someone handed Sheppard six new guns, Ianto assumed fully loaded with spare magazines tucked in the pockets of the new TAC vests that were given to both Sheppard and Ianto. Ianto slipped it on over the soiled, nearly black shirt that had once been white and stopped fiddling with the clasps as Sheppard batted his hands away, securing the vest properly.

"We've located part of your team on an airstrip. My crew will drop us off there; no need to commandeer my ship." Sheppard grinned at the thought. "And yes, Ronon. You can kill things."

Ianto heard the man grunt in response before the air shimmered around him and the ship disappeared.

 

***

  
Scorched grass and the smell of burning wood assailed Ianto as, for a disorientating moment, he felt himself in two places at once before the ground settled beneath his feet. His first thought was "Tosh!"; his second was "shite, dragon!" It stood calmly on the ground, wings occasionally twitching, but for the most part, it remained motionless, a mountain of black-red in the middle of a grass-green airfield.

Tosh was valiantly fighting not the dragon, however, but six Weevils who threatened her position, snarling and lashing out with claw and teeth. Ianto took careful aim and shot at the creatures, not stopping until all six Weevils were dead at her feet. She appeared unscathed from the attack, a few cuts and bruises but no serious bleeding. A scorch mark ran down her coat; a close call with a dragon, probably, but it appeared not to have gone beneath the surface of the leather.

It took Tosh's cries and pointing to distract Ianto from his cursory appraisal of her health to notice who knelt at the beast's feet.

Owen.

He didn't appear injured; in fact, he was rocking slightly, to Ianto's puzzlement. Why he hadn't run ... Owen may be a prat, but he wouldn't cower in fear; the man had looked into the soul of a Weevil, for fuck's sake. A dragon was a bit different, but still ... Shivering, Ianto recalled the slick, malevolent touch at his mind during his exploration of Torchwood Four, and his heart thundered out of control with the idea that a mature alien may turn that thought against one of his team. Shouting at Sheppard and Ronon to do anything to get the dragon to move, Ianto took aim as well, shooting at the thin membrane of the wings. A red blast from Ronon's gun actually appeared to injure the dragon, sending it flailing backwards in pain before darting into the sky, retreating for the moment.

Ianto ran forward, skidding to a stop in front of Owen as he heard the squeal of tires as two SUVs approached. He knelt before Owen, giving the man a few taps to his face. Owen's eyes weren't focusing, drifting despite Ianto's attempts to draw his attention by shouting his name, and the man still rocked, back and forth, arms clutching the opposite shoulders. Growing desperate, Ianto slapped Owen hard enough to shoot pain down his arm. He restrained Owen's rocking, shaking his shoulders and bellowing his name loud enough to wake the dead. To Ianto's relief, Owen's attention slowly focused on Ianto, eyes roving over his face before something in Owen seemed to snap. His reaction was violent, hands fighting and clawing at the air. Ianto hastily backed off, trying to catch Owen's wrists before he hurt himself. He failed, but Owen quickly calmed, turning instead to vomit his lunch and probably everything he'd eaten since the previous week.

Holding Owen upright, Ianto waited until the man had settled before handing over a bottle of water from his vest. The others had crowded around he and Owen. To Ianto's surprise Jack was still there, a concerned scowl on his face as he eyed Owen. Gwen and Rhys were there as well; Ianto hoped Gwen hadn't had her heart set on a specific hairstyle for the wedding as her long locks appeared to have been hacked away at about chin level. From the appearance of her clothing, Ianto assumed she'd gotten.too close to a blast. Rhys was sporting a nasty gash above his eye, but he was breathing and that was all Ianto could ask for at the moment. Surprising Ianto, Tosh clung to Jean-Luc and Stephen stood beside them, a quick nod telling Ianto everything he needed to know about Avalon.

It was safe.

Owen, however, appeared the worst of all the team.

"Shiteshiteshiteshitefuckingshiteshite" was his mantra, repeated over and over.

"Owen," Ianto commanded, lightly squeezing the other man's shoulder. Owen was trembling, the shakes growing more noticeable the more time passed and it wasn't until Tosh spoke up that Ianto realized the problem.

"He's going into shock. We need to get him to the hospital."

A leather coat suddenly appeared over Owen's shoulders, dwarfing the man huddled on the ground. Ianto smiled his thanks to Ronon before he pulled the edges of the coat tight around Owen's shoulders.

Almost surprised by the contact, Owen looked up, as if noticing for the first time that Ianto knelt in front of him. "Torchwood Four," he whispered, making Ianto first believe he had heard Owen mistakenly.

"What about Torchwood Four?"

"Those ... those things," Owen spoke through chattering teeth, eyes now fully aware and honed in on Ianto's, "those bloody things ... they turned Torchwood Four--" His voice cut off again as once again his body reacted to either the dragon or the thought, Ianto wasn't sure but he pitied the man. He had nothing left in his stomach and he was left retching bile, each heave of his body looking like it was trying to wring everything out of Owen to paint the ground. After rinsing his mouth out yet again, Owen finally spoke, "the Weevils. Fucking ... they're Torchwood Four. The bloody aliens turned 'em into Weevils."

Ianto sat back on his heels following Owen's statement, absently noting the helicopter still circling in ready for a fight with the dragon which had fled, stunned, but god, it made sense. It was why they couldn't find the bulk of Torchwood Four. It was why they had recruited. Still didn't explain their hunt of Avalon, but the slight empathic link between them, the rise now, during the dragon attack, fuck, Gwen's attack in the sewers. It hadn't made any sense then, but slowly ... Ianto had no notion of how Torchwood Four had gone from human to Weevil, but if Owen's reaction was anything, perhaps the influence of the alien mind altered them somehow, breaking and bending until the human reflected the creator.

No wonder it made Owen sick.

Realizing that Owen was being helped to one of the SUVs by Ronon and Tosh, Ianto stood and rubbed a hand over his face, cringing at the grit he felt. He must look a mess, but then, the rest were no beauties either. His mobile distracted him from the others, turning to listen to a heavy Russian accent speaking of the combined success of the German and Russian fight against the dragons. Ianto winced at the numbers lost in Russia, both military and civilian, but the dragons were defeated. Running Tosh's scan on his PDA, Ianto realized there was only the one left in Cardiff, though he didn't know about the rest of Britain. Clicking off the mobile, he asked Sheppard if there was any word from the Americas. All targets had been destroyed, Sheppard reported, few casualties.

"Hold on, the Weevils in our cells at Torchwood ... they're Torchwood Four?" Gwen's voice echoed everyone's surprise at the information; Ianto was still trying to--

Ianto felt himself go pale, turning to look at Jack a moment as the thought flew across his mind. Jack. Jack never permitted them to kill the Weevils, just capture and lock them up in the cells. That's the way it always was; in fact, at times Jack almost seemed to mourn their deaths. His Jack _knew_ they were Torchwood Four.

Didn't he?

The more Ianto considered it, the less confident he became in what Jack knew. His action, they made no sense. If this was truly a younger, time-traveling Jack, it made sense for his Jack not to kill the Weevils. Although, Jack was never vicious in the attacks on aliens; in fact, he went quite contrary to Standard Torchwood Operating Procedure. He allowed many to live; death only came to those who gave no alternative. That didn't mean he knew about the Weevils. But it would make a bit of sense.

Then why did his Jack never say anything about Ms. White before her death?

"Ianto, we have a problem."

Sheppard's hushed voice interrupted his thoughts, the others in tight conversation while Tosh remained in the SUV with Owen and oblivious to their conversation. "You mean outside of Torchwood employees mutating into Weevils and dragons attempting to turn the world to ash?"

From the look on Sheppard's face, Ianto knew he wasn't going to like what he heard.

"The two alien crafts, they just launched what appears to be thousands of those pods. It's estimated they'll enter Earth's atmosphere in five minutes."

If Ianto had felt pale before, he must have gone sheet-white as the conversation around them stilled as the others took notice. Gwen was the first to react with a soft "Ianto?" Jack took a more direct approach and demanded to know what was going on. Ianto ignored the others and stared at Stephen a moment before turning away, dialing his UNIT contact and inquiring as to the status of London, UNIT, and the RAF.

What he heard turned the little hope he had to dust.

They were out of enzyme, over fifty air craft had been damaged or lost, mostly over London as the dragons had engaged the fighters in a fierce air battle, including three airliners carrying two hundred civilian passengers each. London survived, with assistance from the ground; UNIT didn't know who or what the weapons were, but the ground weapons had been an effective defense against the dragons (Ianto made note to thank the survivors of Torchwood One, they must have found plenty of alien tech in the storage units Ianto had directed them to). Buildings had been destroyed and lives lost as a result of the falling dragons, but the dragons' attack on the people of London had been limited.

Cardiff was a different story, but Ianto knew that. He'd seen it.

Ianto knew Russia had suffered great loss in their defense and he had yet to hear from China or Australia. He had believed them to have emerged victorious, that they had defeated their enemy, but Ianto realized the cold facts.

They had been toyed with.

Their defenses had been scouted and partially destroyed in the first wave. At least one dragon survived; if they truly were a telepathic race, then the ships most certainly were aware of their limitations and the dangers humankind presented.

They had fought hundreds and survived with loss. Now, Earth would fight thousands.

"Ianto?"

Ianto didn't even bother trying to hide this information from Jean-Luc, feeling his friend's tickling knock on his mental door and permitting him entrance. Turning his eyes towards his friend, he opened his public mind, staring into the shocking pale blue, losing himself, just for a moment. Jean-Luc's gasp and subsequent colorful (yet eloquent) cursing in French led Ianto to believe his fear wasn't unfounded. The others were confused by Jean-Luc's reaction and it started a line of questions Ianto couldn't keep up with had he wanted to try. Jean-Luc continued to vent his distress in a blur of French, pacing and pausing to look at the SUV before starting again.

A hand on his torn sleeve, tugging at it nervously, reminded him the others were waiting for an answer. He spoke to no one and everyone, staring at the ground as he tried to work out a solution before their time was up.

"This has just been a test of our defenses. Thousands more have been launched from the ships; we have about four minutes, twenty-five seconds until they breech our atmosphere."

The silence that followed (interspersed with Jean-Luc's continued swearing) was gratingly tense, broken by a stifled sob by Gwen. She understood. They all did. They had struggled to defeat the six over Cardiff, and even if they weren't fully aware of the rest of the world, they knew how difficult it had been. Ianto didn't know the stories of their victories, but if they were anything like his and Sheppard's, he knew it had probably occurred by slim margins. And with help from UNIT and the RAF.

And now ... thousands.


	6. Red Glow on the Horizon

Ianto's mobile rang, the number identifying the Japanese director, Yasuo Watanabe. Turning away from the others for a moment (and just a moment, time ticked past Ianto's eyes faster than he would have liked) he rapidly exchanged information with the man, snapping his mobile shut to disconnect the call when it was finished (four minutes three seconds, two, one...). He stared at a scorched patch of earth, seeing the globe and the continents as they had been laid out before him on Sheppard's ship. Billions of people, a few hundred aliens. It should have been simple, the math was in their favor. Simple was never the Torchwood way, however, and in the superimposed map of the earth, Ianto began to draw question marks.

"Japan killed three and ran off five dragons which attacked Tokyo. Those aliens split up and were tracked to two other locations," Ianto didn't look at the others, maintaining his focus on his map. Another question mark. "Japan lost communications with Beijing and Seoul approximately fifteen minutes ago and have sent two squadrons to assist. There's been no contact with Sydney or New Delhi since the incursion began."

Of course, no contact didn't mean much, those cities could very well be intact and fighting. The chances that the members of those alien-fighting communities were still alive were another question. He'd been concerned, sending off the formulas to the various Torchwoodesque institutions around the world; some were no more than poorly funded civilian groups who wouldn't have the ear of the government, or possibly even their respect if a warning was issued. Some countries might not even have means to produce the enzyme to assist their fight. But he hadn't wished to bypass channels and trod upon political relationships of which he had no understanding; upon reflection, perhaps he should have. As time ticked away (three forty-five, forty-four, forty-three...) and thousands approached, Ianto realized once again that he was in part responsible by both his action and non-action.

This time, however, there would be no Lisa.

And cities were falling.

"What are our options?"

Ignoring Jack's question, Ianto flipped open his phone again, this time connecting to the emergency broadband to alert the nations he hoped were listening in, adding UNIT and the RAF to the signal. "Prepare for another attack. Thousands more approaching Earth in a matter of minutes. One weakness appears to be their internal systems -- aim explosives down their throats and run as fast as you can. I repeat, prepare for another attack. Thousands more approaching." Ianto paused, then added, "May mankind prevail. Britain, out."

Three minutes, twenty-two seconds, twenty-one, twenty...

Sheppard was speaking into his communications device, nodding as Ianto closed his phone and slipped it into his TAC vest. He wouldn't be needing it again.

"U.S. military are headed towards those four cities as we speak from naval and air force bases in Japan."

For the sake of their "guests," Ianto pretended he didn't hear Jean-Luc pause mid-rant to begin cursing and railing about the infectious, hegemonic U.S. military.

Three minutes, one second, three, two minutes, fifty-nine...

Ianto turned to look at Jack, knowing this would be the most opportune time for him to leave. The battle was no longer his, of his time, and Ianto certainly didn't see any blue police boxes lingering, offering hope. Not that Ianto was defeated, he most certainly wasn't. He just understood the odds, he could do the math. The world's military resources would be extinguished quickly by a concentrated air effort; a ground battle might last a while longer. Cities would burn in the mean time. One country would fall, and then another. Thousands of lives would be lost -- or altered, Ianto grimly reminded himself -- and how soon would it be before the militaries turned desperate? Used more and more vicious weapons leaving a greater scar on the people of Earth than the dragons themselves? To what ends did a country go?

Blanching, Ianto realized it was he who had to make that decision. This was an alien attack. Torchwood was in charge.

God, he wasn't prepared.

"Use me."

Ianto blinked and turned away from his Jack stare (which had earned him a raised eyebrow as Ianto's focus slipped and he lost himself in the small hole in Jack's shirt) and found Jean-Luc standing in front of him, looking far too determined. "Use you for what?"

"Let me fight."

Shaking his head in a firm negative, Ianto ignored Sheppard and Gwen's confused questions. He glanced at Stephen who slowly approached, before turning back to Jean-Luc, his hands clutching the straps of the TAC vest like an anchor. "Absolutely not. You destroyed a building and then collapsed for twenty-four hours. These are _thousands_ of massive, moving objects. No, it would kill you."

"Let _us_ fight, Ianto," Stephen's soothing voice added, and Ianto looked at him incredulously. Stephen's powers were limited, Ianto knew that. There was no way Stephen could fight in any effective manner and survive. Not against many; he'd burn out his mind. These were thousands of dragons, and Jean-Luc and Stephen were not volunteering to fight with weapons. They would fight _as_ the weapons.

Two minutes, thirty-three seconds. Thirty-two. Thirty-one... "What about your ship, Sheppard?" Ianto turned away from Stephen and Jean-Luc to address the figure who looked remarkably unruffled for what he and Ianto had been through. Yet another testament to what Sheppard must have gone through. He kept darting looks between Ianto and the two men from Avalon, but finally his gaze stilled for a moment. "Don't you have weapons on board that can destroy these things?"

Sheppard shook his head, appearing as apologetic as Ianto had ever seen him. "Limited arms -- the _Spes Nostra_ isn't a battle cruiser. And my team still haven't found a way to get past their shields, so even if our battle ships arrived in time, they wouldn't be able to take out the enemy ships. We can open fire, certainly, but we'll lose whatever surprise we might need to destroy those ships."

"Ianto, you're missing the point." Stephen interrupted Ianto's blink of surprise at the idea of battle ships (he wondered if UNIT had anything similar in the works and if they did, why the hell they weren't in the air), standing proud next to Jean-Luc and looking equally convinced of his choice. "We can all fight, all of Avalon, through Jean-Luc. Like our security when he's not playing solitary sentinel. They link up, are stronger together. You've fought and won. Let us have our turn. Let us have our fight."

Ianto couldn't look at Stephen, couldn't face the impassioned plea he was making to take that risk, to risk the lives of all the children of Avalon. Instead, he watched Tosh rush towards the group (two minutes, eight, seven, six...), and a flash of Akira floated across his mind. And Rani. And Lana. All the faces, all the names. If they didn't fight, they were at risk. If they fought, they most certainly at risk. But they were children, for god's sake.

He couldn't.

And he refused to think of Jack's sacrifice with Jasmine. He refused. He wouldn't have to make that choice. That was Jack, an older Jack, far more wise and capable. His Jack made those choices. Ms. White made those choices. Ianto didn't.

Tosh arrived, out of breath but reporting that Owen was resting comfortably and stable, then asked what was wrong amidst the deafening silence of the group. Ianto interrupted before anyone could respond. "What would you say, Tosh, if Akira chose to fight?"

Stunned by his question, probably by the reveal of Avalon secrets in front of the others as much as the content, Tosh looked at Jean-Luc and Stephen before stubbornly lifting her chin. Ianto didn't think she had forgotten Torchwood Four, nor the kids' fear or relief at being rescued. "If Akira wished to fight, then my family would be honored by her choice."

"Thirty seconds, Ianto. We will be ready in thirty seconds."

Ianto looked at Jean-Luc whose eyes were distant -- staring _through_ Ianto, but Ianto knew he was fully aware of his vow -- then to Stephen and Tosh. All he could see was confidence smothering the fear, a bravery Ianto felt he himself truly lacked.

He understood fear; knew it perhaps better than the others, but that didn't mean he knew courage.

And upon the face of Jean-Luc, the others' (god, even Jack's, Jack who wasn't his but was still ultimately Jack) and those behind Jean-Luc's eyes, courage was written.

The helicopter which had been circling their area landed roughly near where the group stood, startling Ianto. He flinched out of instinct as much as concern for the aircraft and the pilot. He watched as the pilot stepped out even as the blades still spun, standing at attention and watching the group, never moving to join. He was confused for a moment by her actions until he understood what thirty seconds had possibly meant; Jean-Luc had given a warning, thirty seconds to get ready and out of harm's way.

Like pilots flying helicopters.

God, what sacrifices did one make to save a world and her people?

Torn, Ianto looked back at Jean-Luc, his friend for almost two decades, and suddenly the pale blue eyes focused on Ianto, the power behind those eyes causing Ianto to stumble back a few steps before hands steadied him (Ronon, judging by the close smell of leather). Jean-Luc's voice rang softly in Ianto's head, but it wasn't just Jean-Luc's voice. It was melodious, dozens upon dozens of voices, he could hear individuals, Stephen's lilt, Lana's sultry purr, many more he didn't recognize but felt he knew, a multi-toned voice humming with power.

 _"We wish to fight."_

They were kids. They were adults (one minute, forty-four seconds, forty-three, forty-two...). Hundreds of voices, filling his mind, all united by the power that was Jean-Luc. So _many_. Ianto felt love, a tender hand smoothing over his mind, knowing it had stemmed from Jean-Luc but was echoed in force by the hundreds of children and adults lending their power. Avalon. All the gifted. All echoing the same wish, the same hope, the same love and willingness to sacrifice.

 _"Let us fight."_

There were thousands coming. Losses equalling that, maybe more. Probably more. They might fight a military battle, but at what cost? What cities would fall? Would Cardiff? London?

Britain would suffer.

Britain would burn before they could save her.

He couldn't allow that (one minute, fifteen seconds, fourteen, thirteen...). He had duty; he had his responsibilities. He had his family. He had a choice -- the fate of Britain and the world or the fate of Avalon. Avalon had made their choice, they had their own families, their own friends and responsibilities, their own nations to defend and they had made their choice.

Now it was time for his.

Ianto worked his jaw furiously for a moment, teeth grinding in an effort not to throw up his hands and throw the tantrum he so wished to indulge in. Fairness had no value here, nor did want (fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five...). Only desperation and the bravery of hundreds of souls staring back at him from behind Jean-Luc's eyes.

Ignoring the wet fall of sorrow on his face he could scarcely blame on rain, Ianto jerked his head into a nod and turned away as Jean-Luc's face broke into a grin and Stephen's face blanked completely. He paid no attention either to the air crackling with power behind him as he strode away from Jean-Luc and Stephen, Avalon and his decision. He couldn't watch as the gifted partook in a battle he couldn't join, a fight which very well could destroy Avalon. He stared at the skies instead, countless white-red dots appearing like falling stars in the skies. There was commotion behind him, voiced but wordless, a mere muffled rumble falling on his ears.

"Ianto!" His head nearly shook off his shoulders; Ianto absently realized Sheppard was shaking him to get his attention. His eyes never left the sky as Ianto listened to Sheppard shouting, "What the hell is going on? Three of my crew just stopped, blank as your friend and the pilot."

"The dragons are about to learn the wrath of Avalon," Ianto smiled, pointing up to the hundreds of dots filling the sky. Wrath they had ten-fold, all those of Avalon (and the few outsiders who Avalon had missed) who had been taken from their homes, lost family members and friends, and been forced into cells.

"What the fuck is Avalon? Who-"

Sheppard's voice suddenly cut off, though his hands still clasped Ianto's shoulders, at the same moment as Gwen released an "oh my god!" and Ianto heard Ronon's growled question to Sheppard. It didn't matter now, Ianto's choice. Perhaps this was what the faeries had meant, all those ages ago. It felt a lifetime. Maybe they meant not his choice to become Mr. Black, but rather this sacrifice, his friend and mentor and all the gifted in the world.

The dots were quietly blinking out of sight, vanishing before Ianto's eyes and he knew this was what had distracted Sheppard. He supposed they were exploding, there was a brief moment when each dot grew larger and then ... nothing. Over and over, the dots across the sky vanished into the twilight of dusk. Ianto felt a hand at his shoulder, he knew without looking it was Jack and while he desperately didn't want to, he found himself leaning into the touch all the same. He was quite stunned that Jack hadn't left yet but this other Jack was proving him wrong time and again, acting more like the Jack he knew than not. It didn't seem right, there ought to be something wrong, something different because the man was most certainly not his Jack, but he felt just the same. He _touched_ just the same.

Ianto caught sight of a flash of black on the horizon, barely visible as night crept her hand over Cardiff. At first, he thought it was just a UNIT or RAF jet, sweeping the land but then he saw the wings curl. He stiffened, heard Jack's concerned "Ianto?" and felt his heart leap to his throat and threaten to strangle him. In a breath, clarity came to Ianto and he saw why Avalon had been taken, why all the gifted had been rounded up and locked away in psi-proof cells.

He'd felt their touch; Owen had as well. The dragons were a telepathic race.

They _knew_.

Fear tasted bitter on his tongue. "Protect Jean-Luc!" Ianto shouted, reclaiming the ability to move once the thread of hope he'd been clinging to unraveled before his eyes, hands burning as the thread was torn away to leave him tumbling back into the sprawling nightmare of the day. Turning his back on the beast, Ianto sprinted to where he had dropped his weapon. He quickly phoned UNIT, requesting immediate assistance at the airfield as he picked up his gun. Stuffing it back in his vest, he directed the others as he moved between Jean-Luc and the dragon. "Do whatever it takes, do not let that dragon touch him!"

The others quickly armed themselves; Jack raced back to the SUVs; Ianto figured now was as good a time as any. They might not make it past this battle with the dragon; Ianto wouldn't have to explain why Jack left. Gwen came and stood beside Ianto, forming a feeble line of defense with Ianto's semi-automatic from Sheppard's ship. "I'm an ace shot, ya know."

Ianto spared a moment in his calculations to glance at the shorn head of Gwen, her face tilted up in a smile. "Are you, now?"

"Yup." She cocked her gun, eyeing the still-too-far-away dragon in her line of sight. "Two bullets in this gun, but I only need the one."

He couldn't help but smile in return at the bravado, knowing full well (as did Gwen) it would take more than one bullet and no enzyme to defeat the dragon, but willing to play along with Gwen's confidence. They just had to buy time. He checked his magazine, realizing he had the single bullet in the chamber left. "Fancy a wager? Your one bullet over mine."

"You lot are certifiable, you know that?" Rhys stood beside Gwen, looking very uncomfortable with his gun but apparently willing to put up a fight. Ianto wouldn't deny him his chance any more than he had denied Avalon, he just hoped Gwen had instructed him how to disarm the safety.

Tosh stood on the other side of Ianto, touching his arm before standing tall. "For Torchwood?"

"For Torchwood."

Ianto blinked in surprise and momentarily turned away from the approaching dragon to stare at the smirking Jack over Tosh's head. He had a bazooka thrown over his shoulder and tossed Ianto a spare clip. Ianto didn't question where or how he'd gotten it, just snapped it into place, a bit more relieved to have more between him and the dragon than a single bullet. (Gwen protested and called their bet off but immediately reinstated it when Jack passed another semi-automatic down the line to her. Ianto didn't think he'd seen Gwen's eyes light up like that since Jack had called a three-day weekend.) Ianto glanced again at Jack, certain there had been a swap, that his Jack had shown because only his Jack smirked like that in the face of death. No swap, however, there was the small scar above Jack's right eye where he'd misjudged an alien's attack. But no matter how Ianto tried to tell himself otherwise, the other man _looked_ like Ianto's Jack, minus the greatcoat.

Ianto missed the greatcoat.

"For Queen and country," Ianto softly quoted, pretending he couldn't feel Avalon behind him. Turning to face their enemy, Ianto figured the dragon's flame-reach and the probability they would have in all of them surviving. Better odds minus the fire. They were toast if it started spitting fire. They stood in the open field with no shelter, protecting equally unprotected Jean-Luc and Stephen. Protection. 'And who protects us?' he'd asked Tosh, back when their enemy were human, and still to the day, the words rang true. It was only luck and experience which protected Torchwood, heavily favoring the luck. And an occasional bout of heroics from Jack. Ianto wondered if those heroics held in this version of Jack, for they were running short on luck and experience had run out with the last attack.

Twin roars caught Ianto's attention, breaking to his far left and his far right. He had to turn his head to quickly scan the horizons at opposite links, sight confirming what instinct told him. Their attacking dragon had brought back-up; pale white against the darkening sky.

The breeders.

The power thrumming behind them was palpable, a tension so thick in the air that Ianto didn't need to look to know Jean-Luc was hard at work, destroying their foe in whatever method that worked for those kids. Adults, too. But god, the kids.

And their UNIT backup was still not in sight.

Panic threatened to overwhelm him as Ianto tried to remember from his lessons and time spent at Avalon as to what would happen to all the others linked up with Jean-Luc if his friend were to be killed. Ianto gestured sharply at the three dragons approaching. "Gwen, Rhys, focus on the white to the southeast. Shoot for its eyes, we know those are unprotected and might buy us time. Jack? Take the other. Tosh and I will-"

Helicopter blades thumping to life stunned them all, and the front turned to see the pilot still standing still, blank faced and motionless, still a part of the Avalon meld destroying the thousands raining down upon the Earth. There were two in the helicopter, however, and as it rose from the ground Ianto saw the unmistakable figures of Sheppard and Ronon.

Sheppard? A pilot?

Ianto watched in disbelief, feeling the syncopation of the blades just out of step with his racing heart as the helicopter darted past, launching twin missiles at the white dragon to the southeast, scoring a hit that left them cheering and the alien shrieking in pain. From what Ianto could see, the whites were significantly less protected than their black and red brethren; a point in Torchwood's favor. Sheppard's missiles had torn easily through the hide, leaving a gaping wound which failed to bring down the white but it had altered its flight path from a straight shot to a wobbly, drunken swerve reminding Ianto of late nights following a binge at the local pub, he and Lisa leaning on each other for support as they laughed and made their way to her flat.

Those nights were easy to sleep off. Unfortunately, he didn't believe this night would be as easily cast aside with a pain reliever and club soda, if the red glow of fire on the horizon meant anything.

Sheppard evaded the shaky stream of fire ejected as the white dragon sputtered a retaliatory blaze; Ianto noted with relief that the man knew how to fly a helicopter as it veered away. A lesser pilot might have been charred to a crisp and while Ianto knew the American was old enough to make his own choices, Ianto couldn't bear the burden of that guilt. Too much guilt; too many deaths. Guilt for what he controlled, guilt for what he couldn't.

Glancing up at the darkening night sky, the flares of falling warrior dragons twinkling in the distance, Ianto lost count as each alien life blinked out of existence.

Guilt with purpose.

One torching flame down for at least three minutes, two remaining as steadily beating wings carried the dragons closer to the line of Torchwood defense. Ianto calculated the distances; not promising, but perhaps better odds with one injured dragon. He kept a mindful watch on Sheppard and Ronon as they sped out of harm's way and tried to figure out how to best take down the two before they turned to cinder.

"I can do better than a one-eyed pilot. Eat my missile, lizard-breath."

Ianto blinked and wished the roar of the approaching black and red war dragon had been a little less than eardrum-shattering, but he was fairly certain he hadn't misheard Jack when Tosh giggled, then burst into peals of laughter as Jack squared his shoulders and fired his rocket-launcher at the remaining healthy white breeder. The situation wasn't funny; it really wasn't. In fact, the situation was about as dire as Ianto had faced; the battle of Canary Wharf running a close second to the utter chaos and desperation. But despite the threat, despite the fear and the hopelessness, Ianto couldn't help himself, the corners of his lips twitching with effort to maintain a calm demeanor completely failing.

He laughed, right along with Tosh.

Not nervous laughter, not a chuckle borne from extremes sounding false and hollow. Ianto couldn't help it; the ridiculousness and arrogance of Jack; still so true even if he knew this Jack wasn't his, his laughter rang true, echoing down the airfield and bouncing off distant trees. God, was Jack trying to show up Sheppard? In the middle of a battlefield? Leave it to Jack to know his priorities.

Still far more amused than he ought to be given the situation, Ianto watched the rocket spiral towards the white dragon whose wings beat a rhythm drawing it closer and closer (thump.thump. slower than his heart dancing double-time with adrenaline against his ribcage thumpthumpthump) to the group until Ianto could swear he could smell the sulfur pouring off the beast blend with the heavy scent of scorched earth into a cloying mixture suffocating Ianto's senses. He knew that feeling and he could almost see the levity fleeing as tendrils of memory crept along his consciousness, leaving a fight to keep his mind clear of doubt and fear, of failure on the grandest scale when only a handful survived, a handful witnessing the failure of man and the downfall of one of the strongest organizations in the world. They'd thought themselves invincible. They'd believed themselves superior. And oh, how they'd fallen amongst fire and savagery, humanity erased to mechanical purity. Thump. Thump. _Clank. Clank_. Dragging Lisa through the halls, screaming as the ceiling burned and smoke snuffed the air from his lungs.

God, he'd been here before. Living again. How many times can one fight and still live? Who would he be dragging through the halls to safety this time?

"Ianto!"

Ianto blinked at the sound of Gwen's voice, dazed for a moment as black and red encroached into his peripheral vision. He did the only thing he could think of -- he hit the ground (and hard) as the downdraft power of the wings assisted gravity. Rolling to get himself as far away from the warrior dragon as he could, Ianto felt the ground explode where he had just lain, the beast's club tail cratering the earth and showering him with pebble and chunks of clumped grass and dirt. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could even as he felt arms pulling him up, Rhys providing both support and hindrance to his action. Ianto's ears were still ringing as he took in his surroundings, chest heaving when he chased his breath. There was a lump on the ground a distance away, a white writhing lump. One of the whites, Ianto's mind slowly supplied. He wasn't sure where the other was, but the one was at least temporarily down. Tosh and Gwen stood beside Rhys, but their attention was focused elsewhere, a spot beyond Ianto's shoulder, a look upon their faces which Ianto wished he could burn from his memory.

Brushing dirt from his TAC vest, Ianto spun to see what had drawn the horrified looks of Gwen, Tosh and Rhys.

Without thought to action or consequence, Ianto bolted forward, a roar of protest on his lips echoing with the dragon cries across the field. He didn't think, he couldn't think of the consequences. What would happen to the past and present if timelines were altered? The grandfather paradox. He'd read and studied this in one of Torchwood One's databases. There was plenty of evidence in the Archives of the disasters that could happen should past, present, and future collide and erase. Theories from across the universe and expanse of time, all indicating cessation in time/space as one understood it. The butterfly flapping its wings. Or as others would argue, multiple branches of reality fractured upon the back of a butterfly's wings. Ianto couldn't fathom what implications this would have on the present, if this really was grandfather's paradox in action.

Could they have already lost?

As he got closer, he could see the hint of once-blue shirt between the claws and familiar boots sticking out beyond the cage the dragon's claws had created. The black and red dragon had yet to singe its prey (had yet to eat its prey too, Ianto's mind helpfully supplied), and he could see Jack struggling to escape the alien's grasp as it pinned him to the ground. He passed the used missile launcher as he ran, not giving it a second thought as he had nothing to arm it with, his hands tearing at his TAC vest for the blade he knew was inside. Of course. Jack had been the biggest threat on the ground with the bazooka and after he'd struck the other white, the warrior beast had targeted Jack.

It was what Ianto would have done, had he been a building-sized fire-breathing dragon hellbent on conquering earth to turn it into a lush dragon paradise with billions of humans-turned-Weevils running about at his command.

The blade Ianto unsheathed was hardly a threat, measuring a mere six inches in length but it looked sharp and Ianto briefly thanked Sheppard's crew for maintaining their equipment. He had no idea what he would do with the knife against the impossibly hard armor covering the black and red dragons; Ianto hardly had a chance of slicing through an artery or striking its heart. If it had arteries and a heart. But his momentum was already carrying him forward and he really had no other recourse as Jack was still pinned to the ground and the possibility of this Jack dying and thus unraveling space/time was too much for Ianto to consider.

Ianto pretended the notion that it was still _Jack_ didn't cross his mind.

The dragon was actually scaled, Ianto realized, long, thick stripes covering its red belly like a snake and he wasted no time shoving the utility knife up between the scales as the dragon's attention focused on Jack. The rotten stench of dragon blood was the first indication that he had succeeded in damaging the dragon, puncturing the hide beneath the scales. He had no idea how deep he'd struck, what he'd struck, if anything, but he knew he had shed the dragon's blood and caused it pain as Ianto felt himself being lifted upwards, hand still on the blade embedded elbow-deep between the scales. He quickly let go, the hard scales scraping across his arm stealing his breath but the sheer panic of the situation masked it in victory. He'd hurt the dragon; he watched as it reared upwards, a blast of fire burning the skies, not Jack and the ground. Darting forward under the alien's talons, he grabbed at Jack who was slow standing but seemed relatively unharmed. There was no time, no time to check him over but Jack was alive, alive and well, and not causing a catastrophic shift in timelines or proving himself an alien in disguise.

Jack was _alive_.

"Come on!" Ianto shouted at Jack as he half-dragged, half-guided the man towards the others, his voice sounded like a whisper next to the boom of the warrior dragon's bellow. The ground quaked beneath his feet, causing Ianto to stumble, Jack all but falling to his knees if not for the support Ianto was bodily providing. Ianto didn't want to look behind him; didn't want to see death approaching in shades of black and red. It was almost better, death at their backs as they ran from the angry beast. At least Ianto wouldn't know if he'd failed Torchwood and the Queen, his family and his nephews, his fellow survivors in London and the rest of the world. The wind picked up, nearly blowing them over as they ran; Ianto could hear the whooshing thumpthump ( _Clank. Clank._ ) behind them, the dragon's wings building speed to give chase. Maybe if they split up, Ianto could push Jack to the side, Ianto could distract the dragon, provide cover while the others escaped. Jack had to live. Jack _needed_ to live. As much as the world needed him to survive this far, Jack needed to survive this. Get to the SUVs. Drive away as fast as possible. He needed-

"OI! Ugly! Over here, you bloody tosser!"

This time Ianto did trip up, crashing inelegantly to the ground with Jack in tow, surprise and fear contrasting elements as his feet continued escaping but his mind tried to rationalize and understand what it had heard. He looked down when he felt a hand upon his wrist, Jack steadying him with both hand and eye, a calming gesture which allowed Ianto to look towards Owen in time to catch another sight he wished to wipe clean from his mind. The dragon's neck billowed like a balloon for an instant before splitting like a pulled zipper, dragon blood splattering a heavy rain on the ground while the neck collapsed inward, the head pulling back, looking as though it were withdrawing but it did without control as the long neck crashed into the body, its head falling to the earth and soon its body tumbled after, the air currents knocking Owen to the ground like a domino.

Ianto stared in disbelief as dirt kicked up by the fallen alien pelted Jack and him, stared as Owen stood and brushed off his denims, stared again at the dragon and tried to comprehend the incomprehensible.

Then again, Owen had stared down a Weevil.

By the time Ianto and Jack made it over to where Owen stood, Tosh and Gwen were already latched onto him like large versions of Ianto's leech nephews, and an embarrassed Owen was trying to retain dignity and poise by pretending it didn't matter. The women stepped aside as Jack and Ianto approached; Owen raising his chin in defiance and pride.

"Some dragon slayer you are, St. George. What'd you think you were going to do with a bloody bamboo shoot under its fingernail? Tickle it to death?"

Ianto was just as surprised as Owen when he hugged the obnoxious doctor. And nearly fainted when Owen returned the embrace. "Thought you were cowering in the auto."

"Couldn't let you lot bollocks up saving the world and all now, could I?"

"You still look like shite." And the doctor did, his trembling hands and pallor visible even as night descended. Ianto gave Owen's shoulders a squeeze then stepped away, partially embarrassed by his own relieved display. Jack wasn't nearly as restrained, stepping forward to give Owen a hug before turning it into a grandiose snog of thanks, which left the women giggling and Owen slapping at Jack's back in blustered affront.

Ianto smirked and watched a moment before drawing his attention towards Jean-Luc and Stephen who remained as still and statuesque as they had before the dragons attacked. Beads of sweat lined Stephen's forehead, showing the strain of his contribution. Jean-Luc's battle, however, was much more apparent as blood curled over his fists where his fingernails had dug into his skin, arms vibrating with tension and Avalon's wrath. His pale blue eyes were still as powerful as ever, so intense that Ianto couldn't bear to look; like a nuclear flare it was just too much to see. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose; what that meant Ianto hadn't the slightest, but it couldn't be good -- his own experience with Jean-Luc's shout and all the time spent at Avalon had never indicated blood was a positive sign. A touch at his elbow let him know Tosh had seen it as well.

"Ianto? Is he-"

Ianto wrapped his arm around Tosh's shoulders, turning her away from what they couldn't help. Avalon was out of their control; out of his. He couldn't stop his friend no matter how hard he'd try, no matter the destruction or danger to Jean-Luc. Ianto didn't understand Jean-Luc's plan -- he didn't understand anything outside the concept. But whatever he was doing, whatever Avalon was doing, it was working.

He quickly stepped in front of Tosh as a screech laced with pain sounded to the north of the group; dim light reflecting off the white leathery hide reminded Ianto instantly that their celebration was too soon. He'd forgotten the others, the two white dragons. He wasn't sure if the lump on the ground had risen, in the failing light it was hard to discern objects on the ground but he could see the pale hide of one careening for the group at breakneck speed, reminding Ianto of shuffleboard and he wondered how far he'd bounce when the kamikaze dragon struck.

Too soon to figure out what could be done against this threat, the heavens erupted into a brilliant white flare. Ianto slammed his eyes shut and threw his arm up as a shield against the blinding light, but even then, the negative afterimage bounced on his eyelids, giving a false sense of movement. Unsteady but keeping his balance, Ianto watched behind his arm as the light flared again and the screech from the forgotten white dragon sounded far more to his left than it had from in front of him seconds before. Warily opening his eyes, he saw the world returning to its moonlit blacks and greys, an unusual light in the sky as large blotches grew dim.

Two flashes. There were two alien ships. Ianto refused to consider the idea that the _Spes Nostra_ and her crew were gone; Avalon was better than that. There were two alien ships and the skies had just exploded. Perhaps it was too much to hope for but maybe, just maybe, there was reason to hope against the alien threat. Dragons. Bloody-

Dragon. Ianto scanned the horizon, then the ground and the skies, searching for the white breeder. He could hardly see, however, his eyes watering furiously from the initial shock of the light and specks of what he knew were false images still dancing in front of him. Another roar, to his right, but then a steady echo, more a throb. Disoriented, Ianto shouted for Torchwood to search for the dragon, but the others were having as much a problem as he between the sound and the blasts in the sky. He could feel Tosh holding on to the back of his TAC vest; at least he hoped it was Tosh and not a Weevil snuck up behind them. Gwen, Rhys, and Owen responded as well, weapons aimed at everything and nothing.

Twin flashes blinked in the night sky; Ianto caught them shining like two red eyes. They were unmistakable, those flashes, as were the dozens of others as they dotted pinpricks across the horizon. Trying to track the missiles was impossible, so Ianto settled for listening to the sound as they passed overhead, ending in an explosion not quite on the scale of the two before. But this, this had been smaller, more dragon-sized.

It seemed their back-up had arrived.

More blasts and a corner of the field lit up in a fireball, the shockwave rocking Ianto back on his heels, but nothing threatening to topple him. Spotlights turned on as jets screamed over their heads; Ianto turned his head up to watch before watching the strobe-effect of the lighting on the airfield battered and burnt, but with the Torchwood team still standing.

Two familiar figures exited one of the helicopters, the exceedingly tall man indicating to Ianto who the pair were.

"Sorry about that, had to rearm and then we ran into some friends of yours."

Ianto breathed easier, relieved to hear Sheppard hadn't been battled from the sky and that he and Ronon were in one piece.

And made quick friends with the RAF and UNIT, it would seem.

"I reckon there aren't many who claim hatred against their fellow man right now," Ianto shook Sheppard's hand before he was pulled into the umpteenth hug of the day; for one so reserved he had been on the giving or receiving end of far more tactile acts than he had probably in his career at Torchwood. But it didn't matter, a lot of things would be excused from the day. 'The _Spes Nostra_?"

"Commander Weir reports that the two alien vessels were destroyed; how she could only guess since there were no reports of ballistics fire from the surface. They're off to help the Chinese since their cover is no longer necessary." Sheppard nodded towards where Stephen and Jean-Luc stood. "Seems your friends were rather angry with those dragons, no signs of any of the pods breaking atmosphere as well."

"They had their reason to defend Earth." Ianto thought back to his own family, tucked away safe he hoped in the lands far removed from Cardiff and all the trouble. And of his mother. Ms. White. And of Simone, Caleb, and all the other innocents lost. And their families. God, how many had been killed trying to prevent this?

"So what exactly is Avalon?" Sheppard asked, Ianto's stomach flopping as he realized the secret and hidden nature of Avalon was probably secret no longer.  
Ianto didn't have time to answer when Tosh's cry sent that stab of fear spiking again. Dragon? More? At least with the RAF and UNIT circling overhead they had more protection but how much fighting could take place before the fighters collapsed? Ianto shook himself free of any thinking in general when he saw Tosh kneeling near the prone form of Jean-Luc; Stephen appeared down as well.

Racing to his friend's side, Ianto felt for a pulse first, hope surfacing once he determined that it was at least steady, if faint. "Owen!" Ianto barked, laying a hand gently on Jean-Luc's chest to make sure he still breathed. The doctor appeared to have forgotten his own earlier medical concerns as he ran for Ianto's side, unceremoniously shoving Ianto out of the way so he could triage with the shaken Tosh.

"What the fuck am I dealing with here, Ianto?"

Ianto shrugged as he moved to Stephen's side. "Over-exertion? I don't know symptoms or treatment for any of this. Jack? Do you know?"

Sheppard interrupted, hand on his communication device. "Three of my crew just collapsed. Ianto?"

"And I've got about two hundred kids likely in the same state, Colonel. I don't _know_." Ianto tersely answered, ignoring Tosh's gasp of 'Akira!' and Owen's curses, nodding at Ronon who broke from the shadowed darkness, carrying the forgotten helicopter pilot in his arms. "Avalon's a school for the gifted."

Owen scoffed at the idea, his contempt and disregard lying thick on every word, something Ianto was used to under normal circumstances, but not these. "A school? You let kids get involved in this?"

Ianto wasn't aware he moved, but suddenly he was on his feet, forgetting Stephen and lunging for Owen, determined to do something to displace the guilt into anger rightly served as a fist across Owen's jaw. Or perhaps the eye. Either location would feel equally justified since Ianto couldn't hit himself.

"Ianto! Focus on what's important." Ianto's shoulders strained against the two hands restraining his arms; Jack's grip was solid and as much as he wanted to wipe the condescending scowl from Owen's face, he knew Jack was right. He fought Jack's hold a moment more, just to prove to Jack (and himself) that Owen wasn't right to question his judgment, the twat just didn't know he was wrong. Jack finally released him, Ianto grimacing as Jack's hands tugged and pulled at the scratch from the dragon scales he'd forgotten. "You're hurt."

Ianto pointed to Jean-Luc and ignored Jack. "We need to get them to Avalon. Sheppard? Can you transport us?"

"Lead the way. I assume you at least know how to get there."

Ianto let the jibe slide past and bent to lift Jean-Luc; Jack helped, to Ianto's relief. Sheppard and Rhys carried Stephen, and between the five of them, loaded the three unconscious heroes into the helicopter. "Owen!" Ianto called for the doctor despite his anger, "we're going to need you at Avalon."

Tosh stopped him before they left and Ianto sighed, closing his eyes, not wanting to deal with the knowledge that he might have killed both her niece and her boyfriend. It was too much for the moment, too much to consider. They'd destroyed the threat, but at what cost? Could they have succeeded militarily instead? He'd been so willing to believe Jean-Luc that it was the only viable option. And now...

"Don't listen to Owen. They chose this, Ianto. Avalon wanted to fight."

He tried to smile, he really did. Tosh wasn't fooled, and the sympathy was far too much for Ianto at the moment. If he stared too long, he'd just sit down on the spot and weep, weep for what was lost, what might be, and what never was. It was hard to believe the battle was over; they'd only fought a day but the morning seemed a lifetime ago when Sheppard first appeared on Torchwood's doorstep and the horrors had descended once again. The horizon glowed with fire, but Cardiff still stood; Britain still stood. It should have been a victory; Ianto should have felt elation; joy, if the old Jack hadn't left, he'd have asked Jack to go out for a drink. And then to fuck him slowly on the crisp linens of Jack's bed.

But for as much as victory there was loss; and Ianto didn't know where the two met. Watching Ronon carefully lift Jean-Luc into the helicopter, it seemed as though the victory didn't matter. Not if it was at such a cost. He'd done it. He'd followed in his mother's footsteps and made the choices she made, choosing one life over another.

Ianto wished he could ask her how she lived with herself.

"Take the Rovers, meet us at Avalon." Ianto replied instead, turning away from Tosh. He climbed into the helicopter and made certain the three were secure before he strapped himself in, ignoring Owen and refusing to look out at Jack as he shut the doors on the craft.

Six collapsed, unresponsive. Probably all of Avalon.

Many questions would be sought; and Ianto feared every answer. He had no answers, not even Tosh's reassurances meant anything. Avalon had chosen to fight, but Ianto had permitted it.

He began listing the gods he knew, a prayer in every tongue to every deity across space and time, any who might listen and respond, and even those Ianto really doubted listened at all.

Pray, let Avalon be safe.


	7. Black and White

_The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

The brief disorientation passed and Ianto found himself in his kitchen, Colonel John Sheppard smirking beside him less than an arm's reach away. Ianto gestured towards the sitting room where he knew a bottle of Scotch and some glasses could be found. "There is something to be said for instantaneous travel."

Sheppard chuckled as he trailed behind Ianto, drawling in the speech pattern Ianto had yet to identify. "Should have seen the naked grey aliens who invented the tech."

Ianto raised an eyebrow as he poured two glasses. Not that he didn't believe Sheppard, the man had _battle cruisers_ after all, but he really didn't know how to respond to naked grey aliens. He blamed the past thirty-nine hours for his lapse in retort.

Fuck, yesterday morning seemed a lifetime ago.

"To victory." Ianto raised his glass in toast after handing one to Sheppard. Victory. And what her cost. Avalon. The thought of the school made his stomach twist and knot something painful, each breath pressing against a building, oppressing mass of guilt. Reports had spread quickly across the news -- hundreds of people of all ages collapsing in the streets, at their jobs, in churches and villages. People in hospitals treating the injured, people the injured themselves. People driving cars and riding bicycles, stopping on the roadways. People in governments, friends and foe. Far more people than had ever visited or been protected by Avalon. Far more by a magnitude of ten.

It seemed while Avalon's power grew, the meld drew the gifted out like a magnet, attracting the unknown and the unaware, requesting their presence in the fight, building strength. 'Like those fractal things,' Lana had said, miming the swirl effect as the force of Avalon gathered force. 'A hurricane. Spinning faster and faster and picking up more and more. Some had no clue they possessed gifts.'

They did now, Ianto noted. Reports from the globe over as loved ones and strangers panicked, so many unresponsive, so many questions, so many demands for answers.

Ianto had none.

Twenty-four had died; mostly the elderly who simply weren't up to the massive strain put on their bodies (though Ianto questioned a few reports). And slowly, most were waking from their unconscious state. It had begun as a trickle, a few students of Avalon crawling from their beds to check on their friends. Owen, being infinitely more understanding than Ianto would have ever given him credit for, didn't nag once to get into their separate beds. Maybe it was shock, maybe Owen really did have a heart. Ianto had smiled when he caught Owen tucking a blanket over the shoulders of two kids (Marion Raspun and Willie Parker); the glare Owen had shot him was worth the effort.

That was the first and last time Ianto stepped foot in the residential wing.

Neither Owen, Tosh, or Ianto left Avalon while the world was uncertain of the fate of the gifted. Jack and Sheppard took care of the media, informing the public and what to do for the immediate future. Gwen and Rhys had left to work with police, fire, and military forces to start clean-up. Ianto had retreated. He knew there was no better word for that. While Tosh and Owen looked after the gifted, Ianto quietly snuck away to the courtyard. He knew it was wrong, he should be helping somehow, sitting with the kids, but he couldn't look at their closed eyes and relaxed faces, couldn't see the occasional dried blood from the bitten lip or the gauze-wrapped hands covering red crescents in their palms from fingernails when the fight had grown.

And most of all, he couldn't go to one room. Couldn't even look at the door, despite the disappointed looks Tosh gave him.

So he hid out in the courtyard, just thirteen hours after the initial dragons had been spotted above Cardiff and hell had rained from the skies.

Hid and breathed the fresh air of the free.

Hid and suffered the guilt at what freedom had cost.

He made phone calls, hundreds of them to all the government leaders and civilian "Torchwood" groups around the world and to parents of the kids of Avalon. Called and called until his voice crackled with fatigue. Called despite half the numbers failing to connect. Called despite dead silence.

Called despite the wish to pretend that, just for a moment, he could sit down and pretend all was back to how it had been, obscurity and secrecy and shadows.

"No. To Mr. Black, for saving us all."

Ianto flinched in surprise, nearly dropping his glass as Sheppard's voice drew him from his thoughts. The mere notion that he should be thanked was repulsive, tasting of the most foul. People had died because of his choices. But before Ianto could repudiate the toast, Sheppard had clinked their glasses together and waited expectantly, his glass raised to his lips.

In defeat, Ianto drank, silently toasting luck.

"It was the right call, Ianto."

Grimacing, Ianto hesitated a moment before throwing the glass back, exhaling as the alcohol burned down into the knots of his gut. Lubricant, the knots unwinding as his body bled tension and seeped into the floor, forever polluting the grounds but he felt better for it. He poured another, topping Sheppard's sip. He almost spoke, then snorted in derision at himself and the protests on his tongue. They sounded weak even to him. It was battle; people die in battle. He knew that. Wishing otherwise would fail to honor the sacrifice of the fallen. Logically, he understood it.

But there was nothing logical about how he felt. He didn't think there ever would be.

The world had shifted overnight and shrieked the chaos he felt, an echo of logic and confusion. Everyone knew. Before, they had denied; they had ignored and made excuses. Now, everyone knew. It screamed across the headlines and dominated the airwaves. People were asking questions and they demanded answers. Or salvation; Ianto wasn't sure which had the greatest global reach. And in the panic of alien invasion and the victory of Avalon, the world's unified perception of themselves as sole inhabitants of the solar system, galaxy, or universe shifted, causing a shite-storm among the religious, the alien believers and those who never really thought of it. This was Copernicus and Galileo. This was the discovery the earth was round.

Life existed beyond Earth.

Pods falling from the sky to release alien dragons intent on world domination were hard to ignore, no matter how much the human mind wished to cling to tradition.

He couldn't understand the feeling; Ianto had known of the existence of aliens all his life. But he could sympathize with the fear of chaos, and Torchwood was doing their best to allay those fears. As were Sheppard and his crew, the thirteen governments in the nations united against the alien threat, and the families and students of Avalon.

The world population was having a harder time accepting Avalon than the existence of aliens, Ianto discovered, having turned on the telly a moment to find out what Jack and Sheppard were saying to the media. The Vice President of the United States, Raymonn Fillmore, joined the education of the public; Ianto had been surprised to learn Mr. Fillmore had collapsed during a meeting in Washington, D.C., a symptom difficult to mask as the world's gifted fell like dominoes scattered and thrown -- he hadn't been a student of Avalon, but he had known of his gifts.

His voice helped; as did Avalon's victory. It wasn't enough; but it was a start.

Everything had changed, now they just needed time.

"What're your plans from here?" Ianto finally asked, clumsily changing the subject like a blind dragon in Splott. It wasn't missed by Sheppard.

"Dragon hide." Ianto frowned in confusion, waiting for Sheppard to clarify. "All the cool superheros have uniforms. Mine's going to be dragon hide."

Sheppard spoke with such childish glee that Ianto couldn't but grin in response. He reminded Ianto a bit of his nephews, how their eyes would just light up when they got a new toy. "Spandex and cape, big 'S' on your chest?" Ianto asked innocently,

"I was thinking more Batman. With a dragon hide eye patch. And no ears."

"Dragon slayer, circa 21st century," Ianto eyed the last of his Scotch and swirled it once before drinking the remains of the glass. "The public will love you for it. Their own hero. You might even get an action figure."

"I think Mr. Black deserves an action figure too."

"Stephen's welcome to the action figure. He might even like it." Ianto tucked the bottle of scotch into the cabinet, deliberately misinterpreting Sheppard's not-so-subtle statement. He'd made mistakes; they didn't make action figures for mistakes. No matter the success, there were always options.

"Ianto ... "

He looked down in surprise when arms grabbed his shoulders, spinning him about. Sheppard's face had lost all sense of the earlier joviality, all previous lackadaisical lounge replaced by an intensity which made Ianto shirk, just a little. This was the Sheppard who had lost a city. This was the Sheppard who had commanded the military in that city.

"I killed my commanding officer in mercy and I woke the worst threat a galaxy has ever known." Sheppard gave a quick shake to Ianto's shoulders as though he were physically trying to impress his point upon Ianto. "I understand guilt. Don't let it consume you."

Ianto could scarcely breathe, unsure of what he'd say even if could say anything. What Sheppard said, it touched too close, way too close to the hidden corners Ianto tried to deny and push away. There was a victory but it had cost so much. Too much. If he wasn't responsible; if the guilt wasn't resting upon his shoulders, who would be to blame?

Jack and he had once had a conversation, long, long ago. Ianto had called Jack a monster.

Ianto had allowed kids to fight. Ianto had allowed Jean-Luc to fight.

Who was the monster now?

As though reading his thoughts, Sheppard's eye narrowed and Ianto found himself being pulled forward roughly, throwing him off balance and almost tumbling against Sheppard's chest. Sheppard's chest. Surrounded by arms of no intent of letting go while a stubbled cheek grazed against his. Their lips met, warmth spreading slowly through all places, no matter how small, where he touched Sheppard. The kiss wasn't fire, not like he'd known with Jack, but it was calming, reassuring, a summer's day spent at his father's, walking the pastures as the sun warmed and baked his skin on the rare occasion the sun showed her face.

Ianto didn't know how long it lasted, time was truly forgotten as guilt was banished by slow heat wrapping around him like his favorite blanket. Sheppard finally broke away with a soft chuckle, rubbing a finger over Ianto's lips. "Rodney's going to be jealous."

With a rueful smile, knowing full-well his own thoughts rested with someone else as well, Ianto tried to filter through the ones of Sheppard's team he had met and who could be Rodney. "Should I be concerned for my well-being?"

Sheppard's laugh reminded Ianto of a dog barking, but he wasn't going to comment.

"No. Unless he and Jack team-up and then we have something to be concerned about."

"Oh, Jack isn't-" Ianto started, changing his mind at the last moment. "He wouldn't be-"

"Jealous?" Sheppard arched his brow, smirking in disbelief. "He may have changed, Ianto, but I know men like him. I am men like him. He's still very much in love with you."

Ianto was fairly certain his jaw was dragging on the floor in shock as Sheppard stepped away, start/stopping a protest with every breath. Sheppard just grinned, tapping his earpiece to connect with his ship.

"Catch yourself a shower and get that arm of yours looked at. I'll send you my full report; I overheard you asking the Japanese director for one. And Ianto?"

With a nod, Ianto motioned for Sheppard to continue, not like at the present moment Ianto seemed to be able to stop the man from talking and he was still too busy trying to compute the fact that he thought Jack loved ... no, it was ridiculous. Sheppard didn't know Jack, not like Ianto knew him. What was more unnerving, however, was Sheppard himself; he was treating Ianto with far more respect than Ianto believed he deserved, and almost like-

"You're a good man. It was an honor to serve with you."

Like the man treated him as an equal.

Ianto returned the sentiments and watched as the shape of Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard wavered, then flashed out in the blink of an eye, leaving Ianto as speechless in the solitude of his flat as he had before Sheppard had left.

Love indeed.

***

 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

"You should have seen Owen about this."

"Mmhmm." Ianto absently agreed with Tosh, relatively glad he'd taken Sheppard's advice and showered first (and grabbed a quick bit of sleep, what he could) since she had ordered him to remove his shirt the moment she saw him, though he really didn't intend to see Owen about the injury to his arm. They still disagreed (almost violently at one point) on whether it had been wise to involve the kids, if Jean-Luc couldn't have managed it with the adults...a useless, pointless argument to Ianto. And he wasn't going to hold it again.

There was no way he could take back that decision even if he wanted to.

But he'd be damned if he had to constantly defend it to anyone other than himself.

Instead, he turned up the volume on the telly, listening to Stephen's prepared speech to the media. They'd talked about what he should say, how he would present Avalon as Mr. Black. It was Stephen's first outing since he had woken, the first time anyone had 'seen' Avalon.

The world waited to see the man behind the scenes.

 _"We gather here today on the most auspicious of occasions."_

Ianto spared a moment to glance down at his arm, the long scrapes and cuts from the dragon scales exposed once Tosh had removed the hastily applied field dressings. He had others -- bumps, scrapes, bruises -- but that was by far the worst.

He was at least conscious.

 _"A day in which I have the honor to present two of Britain's most cherished and prized operations, Torchwood and Avalon. But I stand here not to talk about aliens, I think we've had enough of aliens to last a lifetime," Stephen paused and scattered laughter filled the room, "but to talk about people among us, people with marvelous gifts. Some are no older than five, others older than even me," he paused again as more laughter, warmer this time sounded in the room, "but every one of the gifted are as human as you and I, as our neighbors and relatives, and as the people we stand next to on the street."_

It was hardly a better alternative than Owen, seeking out Tosh, but Sheppard had been right, in both the need for a shower and addressing his injuries. He'd gladly suffer Tosh's ministrations, drawing quick stitches over the few areas she didn't think would seal properly on their own and clucking her tongue every time she removed more dirt and ash from the areas, than to deal with Owen. But it was still Tosh, and she _knew_ he was avoiding, and Ianto knew the recriminations were laying on the tip of her tongue; she was just too polite to speak them.

 _"Freaks! You're all freaks! Unnaturals and creations of the devil! You're damned, you're all damned and you'll pay for what you've done to them! They were coming to save us! Save us from the freaks! You're unnatural! Unnatural!"_

Ianto's attention immediately snapped to the telly, his arm jerking out of Tosh's hands to adjust the volume again, louder this time, but she didn't make one word of complaint. She was as attuned as he was to the screen.

This was not in the plans.

There was a commotion, shouts trying to be overheard over the woman's shrill cries and the reporters were all trying to cover what was happening for each of their viewers and readers. Ianto's stomach sank as he realized who the woman was, Tiffany Woodbridge, the plant at Avalon, and why her words sounded so familiar.

Ianto had forgotten of the human army, Torchwood Four and their recruits. The aliens had touched far more than just that fight for the earth, in some respect, they were still here.

 _"Silence! Please."_

The crowd quieted at Stephen's words, the cries quieting as Tiffany was escorted out of the hall the press conference was occurring in. Ianto had no idea what Stephen would say, what he would do. This was the kind of thing they had been hoping to avoid, that through education and calm discussion they could end any doubt regarding Avalon.

They'd forgotten about those loyal to the aliens.

 _"Tiffany's right, in some respect." Stephen began, looking calmly out over the crowd. "The gifted, they're different. -We- are different." A few startled gasps echoed about the hall, but Stephen continued. "But no more different than one with blue eyes from those with green. Or blond hair instead of black. As far as our research can tell, it is an inherited genetic trait which can skip generations, like twins."_

 _"This Tiffany, she said the aliens were coming to save us. Is this true?" A reporter asked._

 _"These aliens wanted nothing more than to enslave our world. Before their arrival, they sent two to breed a whole new generation of dragons. They also recruited to their cause. These recruits kidnapped the gifted, both children and adults, killing their family, friends, Avalon Guardians and innocents who happened to be witnesses. They killed so that what happened, the fight of Avalon against the dragons, could not occur. It wasn't protection that drove them to lock the gifted in cells in a hidden base; no one harms children for protection. Fear did. Fear of a fight. They wanted Earth and would stop at nothing to get it, even turning human against human."_

For once, Ianto was relieved Stephen had demanded he be the face of Mr. Black. Stephen had far more grace at public speaking than Ianto did. The reporters all shouted to be heard again, finally Stephen picked one out of the crowd.

 _"You said 'we.' You're saying you're gifted as well, Mr. Black?"_

Ianto snorted -- god, that'd be the only time the answer would be yes -- and Tosh gave him a look before resuming stitching the wound on his arm, one eye on the telly, one eye on what she was doing.

 _Stephen hesitated before answering. "I am, to a small degree." The reporters demanded an example, to show them something as a demonstration of Avalon. As the noise and demands grew, Stephen looked about and grabbed a pen from the podium, holding it flat on his palm so the reporters could see, before raising the pen until it hovered -- more danced as it spun and twirled -- in front of his face. He caught it back in his hand, and smiled to the public. "That's about all I can do, no fancy flinging bodies across the room or reading everything within another's mind like you might see in the movies." The crowd chuckled, albeit it a bit nervously. "Those that can, we've all been trained in ethics, in what is considered proper use and improper use. That is one reason Avalon exists, to educate in control and use. There are varying degrees of power, some with less and many others with a great deal more than I, but we do not abuse our gifts. There is one in particular, one whose gifts far exceed any other at Avalon, and he-"_

The telly flicked off, dimming to a blank screen as Ianto stared at it, his finger still on the power button.

"Ianto-" Tosh's voice was scolding, and Ianto wondered when she'd turned into his surrogate mother. She didn't continue though, she watched him for a moment before turning back to the stitches.

Ianto stared at his arm as she worked, watched as she spread antibiotic gel on the scratches which didn't merit stitches. He couldn't understand it; why she was doing it, helping him. And Stephen had spoken yet another reminder of all the reasons why she should have turned Ianto away. He was responsible, for the threat to her niece and the threat to ... he was responsible. "Do you blame me?" Ianto finally asked while she poked and prodded other injuries, the bruising still sensitive enough to make him wince.

"No." Tosh motioned for him to stand and she tested the bruising on his ribs, feeling for any broken bones. "And neither would he," she added rather pointedly.

 _He_ didn't have the chance. Comas would do that.

She had Ianto spin, keeping a careful eye on the bruises and multitude of scratches and scrapes dotting his body. Poking a few more (painful, in the very least), she pointed back to his stool where Ianto sat and attempted to redress in the button-down he'd worn knowing it might have to come off.

To his embarrassment, Tosh helped him slip his arm back into the sleeve. "You should go see him, I can go with you."

Ianto believed he could now list that among the most embarrassing moments, even if it had never happened, nor would it ever. He crossed his arms, cringing when he bumped the work Tosh had just performed to repair the injury, and crossed them the other way so he wouldn't risk tearing stitches. He wasn't going to answer, was just going to wait for her to leave. Didn't she understand? He'd almost killed her boyfriend. Still might, since no one knew why he wouldn't wake up. To actually step foot in that ... no. Absolutely not. "I can't," Ianto said instead, surprising himself with his answer. It wasn't what he'd exactly meant to say, but maybe he was more tired and less guarded than he typically was.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd really slept.

"You're not to blame, Ianto. He loves you very much and he wouldn't want you burdened by guilt for a choice he and the rest of Avalon made. Might have been your decision to approve it, but they would have fought, with or without your permission. They couldn't have allowed Earth to fall if it was within their power, much as you did everything within yours to protect it."

Something in the way she had worded things caused Ianto to look up, certain she knew. She _knew_. Not that he'd been the best at hiding, not during the fight against the dragons, but ... shite. No one was supposed to know, especially not anyone in Torchwood Three. Except for Jack, but Jack seemed to be the exception to most rules. But Tosh ... Ianto supposed he should have figured that Tosh would figure it out. Fuck, he was shite at this whole secret identity business. He should have just come out after the fight and admit he was Mr. Black instead of continuing the charade with Stephen.

"We follow you, Ianto. We trust your decisions," Tosh continued, looking quite pleased with herself for having figured it out, Ianto assumed, while still maintaining that honest earnestness that Ianto admired. "Even when you doubt yourself, we never do."

In his daze, he couldn't find the words to respond.

Tosh seemed to recognize his speechlessness and smiled, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before handing him a week's supply of antibiotics.

Some things never changed.

***

 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

Ianto picked up his mobile, surprised it still worked following all the communications which had passed through its electronics and plastic, and dialed the number of a person he was actually looking forward to speaking with.

One positive conversation, out of how many thousands of others?

"Ianto! Oi, you lot, hush! It's Ianto Jones!"

Ianto winced and held his phone away from his ear as the last part, not directed at him, he knew, was yelled into the receiver. "Sophia. You have kids?"

Laughter sounded the same, even digitized, and Ianto couldn't help but smile in return. "Yes, luv. Nineteen other adults who have acted like nothing but children since we became survivors squared. You need to get yourself to London and celebrate with us. Wouldn't mind waking up next to you in the morning instead of Nigel. He's right scary in the light of day, sober, much less first face ya see when the light's just a bit off and your head's pounding like a twenty-tonne dragon loose in your skull."

"A frightening thought." Ianto had seen what a twenty-tonne dragon loose in Splott could do. "I don't suppose I could convince everyone to quit drinking long enough to re-establish Torchwood London, could I?"

Silence dropped and for a moment, Ianto feared that perhaps it was too soon, too early to ask the question. But if not for the survivors joining the fight against the dragons in London and quite literally turning the tide, London would have suffered far more casualties and damage than the seventy-eight civilian lives lost on the ground. And Ianto had thought, from earlier conversations, that this would be something they would have wanted, were almost waiting for. But now, maybe it was too soon. He should have waited.

"Are you having me on?"

"Mr. Black's orders. Rebuild Torchwood London." Ianto spoke, wishing now he'd waited a few weeks. Maybe months. "I couldn't think of a better group to lead the effort."

"Oh."

Ianto could hear Sophia's choked breath on the other end, kicking himself now that he'd made her cry when she had been celebrating the victory with the others. He glanced at his watch; half two in the afternoon might have been a little early for celebrating, but he'd not scold anyone for it, much less the survivors of Canary Wharf. An odd bond, but palpable nonetheless, joined them all. And now he'd made Sophia cry.

"Bless you, Ianto." Blinking in surprise, Ianto had just a moment to remove the phone from his ear before he could hear, even at a distance, her calling to the others. "We're back! Torchwood London's back!"

Cheers exploded on the other line, Ianto was sure they were partially fueled by alcohol but no less deafening for a mere twenty people.

Maybe it hadn't been wrong not to wait.

"You'll come back and help, won't you, luv? You're part of us. Weren't for you, we'd not have had a chance against the dragons over London and there wouldn't be a London to protect with Torchwood. Oh, and Bertie, Bertie Finnegan, wants to know if she can be head of Archives and Josh wants to know if you'll bring Jack when you do visit."

Ianto smiled, still hearing the animated conversations in the background, of plans and processes and who to put in charge of what and what areas were best to provide the most centralized protection for London when the building itself was rebuilt. Everyone had ideas, everyone had their own specialty.

Survivors squared, Sophia had called them. London couldn't have better.

"Of course," Ianto agreed, not caring what he'd agreed to. He'd bring Jack dressed in tights if they wanted. Best not to offer, though, they'd probably demand he arrive in nothing. Realizing he was making assumptions that by all rights were his decisions to make, but Sophia wasn't aware, Ianto quickly added, "depending on Mr. Black, but of course."

The vibrant voices from London continued their loud celebration, toasts and dedications made at such levels Ianto could hear them word for word. Sophia continued her exuberant play-by-play and Ianto just listened because listening was so much better than going back to his duty.

Although, he reminded himself, listening was part of his duty.

Torchwood London was back.

***

 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

 _Ianto could see the dragon approaching, but there was not a damned thing he could do about it. His bullets were spent, wasted against the hard battle armor of the dragon's scales. Aside from physically throwing himself at the dragon, he had nothing. Nothing at all. And behind him, Torchwood stood, frantically trying to gather enough parts to make something, anything that might damage the dragon before it attacked._

 _What a feeble line of defense they were, the last line of defense for country and earth. Jean-Luc stood behind them with Stephen, just a yard away, working to destroy the aliens but the one dragon was coming. It had a bellow of fire. Ianto had counted down the minutes since its last sweep of flame they'd narrowly dodged._

 _God, they were going to burn._

 _He saw a rocket launcher on the ground, just a little distance away. Hoping it was loaded, he made a dash for it; the dragon was so close he could smell the reeking hide drenched in sulfur. Sulfur._

 _Ianto stood with the launcher in hand, empty as he'd feared it would be. Jack was shouting, yelling at the others but Ianto couldn't hear over the beat of the wings, the roar of the wind as it rushed past his ears._

 _No._

 _"No!" Ianto shouted, trying to distract the dragon, draw its attention away from the others, but it as too late as an arc of fire poured forth from the beast's polished metal mouth, igniting the air and raining down upon Torchwood and Avalon._

 _It burned, burned so hot Ianto could feel the heat where he stood watching helplessly as the team screamed amidst the flames and all crumpled to the ground in clouds of ash. Jack took the longest to fall, burning slower than the rest as though the dragon had planned it just to torment Ianto, to make him watch while Jack's skin blackened and bubbled, his screams shattering the night. Finally, they stopped, Jack stopped, blame and pain the last light in his eyes before the body sank to the earth while the sounds of metal clanked around him and the dragon turned towards him with its yawning, gaping mouth filled with sharp steel teeth rowed like a shark-_

"Ianto."

 _This was it, Earth would fall. Avalon was gone, Ianto didn't think they could have survived the destruction of their focus. Torchwood was gone. He'd killed them all. He should have sent them elsewhere, less unprotected, not an open field. He should have sent Jean-Luc back to Avalon where they'd have been more defensible. A metal hand grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place as the dragon approached, teeth gnashing and clawed forearms slashing at the air-_

"Ianto!"

Ianto registered his name, someone was saying it and he knew, rationally, that he had been dreaming but the touch on his shoulder was _real_ and still all he could see was the dragon approaching while he was being held. Real or illusion, he pulled away from it as hard and fast as he could. Something fell, he heard the sounds of metal falling, and he spun about, trying to identify the source but tripped on his own two feet, stumbling forward until hands braced him and he got to focus on the lips saying his name.

Jack.

His heart still pounding in his ears, arms shaking from the rush of waking, Ianto gulped air faster than he ought to but his lungs were pleading for it. He turned his head and saw Tosh, but didn't see anyone else and for the life of him, he couldn't think of where they were or would be. "Gwen?"

"Checking out an alien sighting in Penarth with the new husband. Remember?" Jack spoke slowly, letting the information sink into Ianto's brain, which was still moving sluggishly with sleep and exhaustion. He faintly remembered Gwen's wedding just days ago. On schedule, despite the attacks. That had to be something, even if he'd nearly slept through the ceremony. He could have slept for months at this point. Continuing, Jack nodded towards the figure hovering a step away. "Tosh and I just got back from one at the Llanishen Gold Course and you were meeting up with us here. Avalon's safe, Owen's still there keeping an eye on everyone. Can I let go now or you still planning on becoming acquainted with the floor?"

Despite knowing that he had only been dreaming and the fact that it wasn't the first time he'd had such dreams (seemed every time he tried to close his eyes, it was all he could see, even after nearly two weeks), the relief at hearing of everyone's safety made Ianto's knees weak and for a moment, he had the fleeting thought that the floor might make good bedfellows. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Jack, squeezing until the man laughed a bit breathlessly at Ianto's exuberance.

"Must have been one hell of a nightmare."

"You have no idea," Ianto mumbled into Jack's shoulder, hating himself for admitting any weakness, but too relieved that they were (Jack was) alive to care. Even with the images rattling around his head, certain fodder for additional and more graphic dreams, Ianto could have fallen asleep again just like this, standing upright with Jack's hands rubbing circles on his back, but fates worked contrary to his wishes as he heard faint voices approaching from above, confusing him for a moment before realizing Gwen and Rhys must have taken the lift at the Plas into the Hub.

"I'll take care of him. You want to brief Gwen and Rhys on what we saw?"

Tosh must have given some affirmative because Ianto felt himself being led away from the desks (a chair, the chair he was sitting in, that must have been the metal falling) and towards Jack's office. Jack laughed as he helped Ianto down the ladder, an action completely unnecessary because the couch would have been an easier and less problematic location for him to sleep but Jack would have none of it.

Jack's bedroom.

Ianto would have blushed, remembering the last time he was down here with Jack (the other Jack), but this Jack was still that Jack, even if he looked a bit different and didn't know quite as much. Ianto knew every inch of this man's body and had mapped exactly where and when a response would occur. An unfair advantage, to be sure, but it kept Ianto at ease as Jack removed first his shoes, then his clothes. All of them, Ianto noticed as he was tucked under the covers of Jack's bed.

Of course Jack would use the opportunity to look, and look he did if Ianto correctly read the smirk on Jack's face.

What surprised Ianto, however, was when Jack turned to leave. Ianto was tucked into Jack's bed, naked, and this Jack was leaving like he hadn't made passing comments and innuendo at his suits just like the old Jack, much less have Ianto's unclothed body to comment on or leer at.

"Jack?"

The man in question turned around at the sound of Ianto's voice, rattling deeper with exhaustion than Ianto was used to hearing from himself, just having barely made it back to the ladder. He'd not stopped in thirteen days, running here and there, doing this and that and monitoring the world's reaction to both the gifted and the alien. Ianto would have blamed arousal instead, but he was so tired he didn't think he could think a dirty thought, much less get hard and have a wank on Jack's bed.

Maybe one dirty thought. Wanking on Jack's bed was a nice, dirty thought, even without the actual wanking.

Unsurprisingly, all Ianto could think about was what Sheppard had said before he'd left.

 _"Jack still loves you."_

When Jack was close enough, inching closer and closer with every moment of silence, Ianto grabbed a handful of his braces and shirt and pulled, tugging Jack down until he hovered just close enough to Ianto that all he had to do to finish was raise his head. He kissed Jack, _this_ Jack, his Jack, kissed him like he had wanted to out on that air field, kissed him like he remembered them kissing and kissing as he'd never imagined.

God, this was _Jack_.

He was an idiot.

Ianto pulled at Jack's shirt until he was lying flush with Ianto; clutched the back of his head until Ianto was certain he wasn't moving, knotted his fingers in Jack's hair (longer, longer than the earlier Jack's) until he knew that Jack would swallow his whimpers. For that could be the only explanation for the sound in the room, desperate cries trailing from tongue to tongue, passing over lips, god, this was his Jack even if he wasn't.

When Jack toppled on top of him, Ianto knew that it didn't matter.

"Who am I?"

Blinking in confusion, the foreign words flitting across his mind in some semblance of order, Ianto stared at Jack, Jack's lips, wondering why they were so far away when they were much better suited to crushing his.

Ianto felt Jack's hands push his shoulders, focusing his attention as they sunk into the mattress, Jack repeating his question, enunciating every word. "Who am I?"

Explanations filtered across Ianto's mind, from drugs to concussion to alien spores. Amnesia? Retcon? Ianto tried to think of the appropriate thing to say, to do, but Jack was straddling his hips, fingers digging into his shoulders and he couldn't think much beyond _JackJackJackJack_. It superseded all other thought, even his bone-weariness. He could forget all that, temporarily, Jack was on top of him. Jack was touching him. Jack was-

Oh.

"Jack." Ianto spoke the name but it cracked in the middle. He tried again when Jack didn't move. " _Jack_." He lightly traced the scar above Jack's eye, the one he'd received in the past few months of capturing aliens with Torchwood. It did matter, and Ianto knew who was pinning him to the mattress. This Jack scarred. This Jack told Sheppard to protect him at all costs. This Jack watched over him, since that day on the roof of the Millennium Centre, always making sure he or Stephen or Jean-Luc was with Ianto while the threat of dragons loomed over their heads, even when Ianto despised the feeling of being watched over. This Jack kissed him in the Hub before they'd left to fight the invading aliens.

This Jack had _stayed_.

"Why?" Ianto asked, confused on that one point. It made no sense. Ianto had been expecting it for months, had been expecting it since he'd found Jack chained to the wall, had expected it since the fight against the dragons began. "Why didn't you leave?"

"I couldn't." Ianto didn't think he'd ever seen such an open, unguarded look on Jack's face before. It was almost painful to see, for all its honesty. "I had to prove I wasn't him. I don't know who I become, or who I was to you, but whatever reason it was, it wasn't worth it. You are worth staying for."

Ianto wasn't quite sure he'd heard Jack correctly, he knew he wasn't functioning at full capacity and needed a few days sleep to catch up to just 'tired', but he was fairly certain Jack had ... but he wouldn't, would he?

He would. _"I love you, Ianto."_ Even if Jack hadn't meant it at the time, had only been speaking what he'd thought Ianto needed/wanted to hear, the words echoed across Ianto's mind, speaking what Jack hadn't said now but Ianto could feel.

Lacking any better response, Ianto pushed up off the bed, sitting up to cling full-bodied to Jack, ignoring the other man's rough clothes in favor of his heat and skin. Cause touch he did, cradling Jack's jaw as they kissed, more than kissed, shared air, shared life, shared everything Ianto couldn't say in response but felt all the same. His fingers slipped over the buttons on Jack's shirt, pulling and tugging because he needed to touch skin; he needed to touch Jack when he'd pretended this Jack wasn't his for so long.

Because this was Jack.

This was _Jack_.

Somehow he removed Jack's shirts; Ianto didn't quite remember the act but the next thing he knew he was touching skin, Jack's skin, Jack's imperfectly perfect skin. Jack was chuckling at his frantic pace, but he didn't care, not really. He'd been so long without, been so long with the teases and the innuendo and for all appearances Jack but he'd fought against it, it hadn't been right, it hadn't been proper, this wasn't his Jack ... but it was. It was Jack and while it shamed Ianto to admit it; this Jack wanted _him_. He wanted Ianto enough to stay.

And that meant something. Enough. Enough to make the touching and kissing right when everything around him was wrong.

Between one breath and the next, Ianto found himself laying back on the bed, sleep furthest from his mind as Jack sprawled on top him. The weight was familiar; comfortable, like Ianto hadn't spent months apart and maybe it was a little different, Jack a little lighter, less muscled, but Ianto knew the scent. He knew the touch and the feel and he knew that cock pressing into his hip while Jack discovered all the places that made Ianto moan.

Jack refused to allow Ianto to reciprocate, slapping his hands away when Ianto moved to run finger-light touches over Jack's sides, back, anywhere and everywhere he could touch. Jack didn't want it and while Ianto hoped only for this time, he could understand why.

For Jack, this was new. Ianto was new. He didn't want to compete with himself or Ianto's knowledge of him.

It's what Ianto would do, if it were him.

He'd make Jack forget there was ever another Ianto.

A giant yawn distracted Ianto from the nip of Jack's teeth along his collarbone, at first he thought he'd managed to stifle it and hide it from Jack, but the man's shaking shoulders proved otherwise.

"You should sleep," Jack grinned as his hands ignored his statement as they continued to move over Ianto's body.

Of course, Ianto should sleep. But he also felt Jack's cock like a brand on his stomach, burning a line to his navel and Ianto decided there were other, more important things he should be doing at the moment. "Later." His own voice sounded as though it were being run over sand, tumbling waters spinning and swirling with every stone. Later he could sleep, right now, he had Jack here. In bed. Naked and hard and Ianto wasn't going to deny he wasn't desperate for Jack's touch.

Jack's silence lasted for a long moment; Ianto finally opened his eyes and saw a scowl on Jack's face, not directed at him, but down ... Ianto's body? He watched as Jack bent and he felt the nudge of Jack's nose against his cock, a quick swipe of the tongue. "This isn't me, right?"

"Jaaack." Ianto drew Jack's name out into at least three syllables as he threw his arm over his face. Not in embarrassment. No, actually, embarrassment, but not severe. He wasn't bothered (yet) by the fact he was no more hard than the pillow he was laying on, because he understood.

He hadn't wanked for months after Torchwood One.

But Ianto supposed he'd be as insecure as Jack if the tables were turned. At least it wasn't permanent. He hoped. Opting for humor rather than anything he could have said which would have revealed far too much, Ianto spoke with his arm still providing the sand in which to bury his head. "Hurry up and fuck me before I fall asleep."

Jack's bark of laughter was surprisingly close, and when Ianto finally opened his eyes (after Jack pried his arm off his face; maybe a bit more than a little embarrassed), Jack's lips were so close Ianto could feel the words breathed towards Ianto, tickling his nose. "You're quite the romantic. Just...this isn't ...?"

Ianto thrust his hips up, not quite sure where or how high Jack's body straddled his but colliding with Jack's cock all the same. He rather hoped he got his point across. "No, it's not you," came his weary response, "and if it happens again and I've not been run ragged by attacking aliens and the outing of Torchwood and Avalon, then I'll panic, question my manhood and blame a medical condition."

"We can sleep, I'll wake you up if you start having a nightmare..."

"No." Ianto finally looked at Jack, _really_ looked at him. This was Jack. _Jack_. The one he'd grieved, the one he'd mourned, the one he'd broken a vase in his sitting room in anger over; this was Jack, even if it wasn't. Ianto had spent months denying, months pushing him away because he wasn't _his_ Jack. He was different, he was younger, he was mortal. _His_ Jack was better and this one was less because of it.

But, Ianto loved _Jack_.

Both of them were Jack. The spirit, the courage, the loyalty and intelligence, self-sacrificing and kindness (least of all, attractiveness) had no more changed with the Jacks than had Ianto through the past few years. He was still Ianto, even if his title had changed. Jack was still _Jack_ , even if his age had changed.

God, he loved the man.

"Jack," Ianto spread his hands over Jack's jaws and cheeks, holding his face firmly within his grasp because Ianto would be damned if he said this and Jack wasn't paying attention. "I need you." Fuck, but he needed Jack. Jack. This one, the other, both of them. Ianto didn't know what he'd have done without Jack's steady support over the months or during the defense of Cardiff. He needed _Jack_.

Ianto watched as the eyes boring into his exploded into black, Jack's pupils dilating so quickly if Ianto had blinked he'd have missed the impact of his words. They weren't any declarations of love, but Ianto did not need, not usually. Tosh had said it once before, he didn't ask for help.

He needed Jack.

There was no warning, no hint; Jack swept down upon him faster than Ianto could react, not that he'd offer a token of protest. Lips mashed against his, savage and desperate before softening into molten heat Ianto felt to his toes, the tense planes of his body relaxing into the mattress until it felt like Jack's body covered his and all around him.

Relaxed so much he yawned into the kiss, much to Jack's amusement.

"You're sleeping," Jack laughed against Ianto's collarbone, soft kisses peppering Ianto's skin as he shifted the intensity to a slow burn. "I'm not fucking someone who's not an active participant."

"Oh, you've self-control now?" With a grin that seemed as slow as syrup over ice, Ianto curled into Jack as the other man shifted and maneuvered his way onto the small bed to lay beside Ianto. This was right. Nothing else mattered. Ianto might kick himself later for decisions made on a sleep-addled brain but this _felt_ right.

"I exemplify self-control."

Jack's smirk faltered as Ianto arched an eyebrow in doubt and reached between them to rest his hand on Jack's erection, setting off a series of cascading tremors just under Jack's skin that was fire and need all rolled into one. A firm hand grabbed Ianto's wrist and forcibly moved it to his chest, reaffirming Ianto's doubt.

"So much self-control I'm at least going to wait till after you fall asleep to rub off on your thigh."

"S'more like it." When it involved sex, Ianto wondered if Jack had ever possessed self-control, in this form or the other. Or maybe it was a cultural thing, from whenever and wherever he was from. Or maybe Jack had just seen so much death that he wasted no time delaying sex. Or maybe he just was a man with a healthy admiration for sex. Not that Ianto blamed him, sex was fantastic, especially when-

God, he really must be tired. His thoughts hadn't spun so much on nothing since his youth spent daydreaming on his favorite rock.

"Jack," Ianto asked with hesitation stretching out the name, truly hoping his earlier thoughts hadn't been voiced but most certainly wanting this question vocalized and knowing on any other occasion, the filter between his brain and his mouth would be intact and fully functional. "How old are you?"

For a moment, Ianto almost believed that Jack had actually fallen asleep. Or maybe Ianto had, and he was merely dreaming, self-aware in the dream state like he had never felt before. In fact, given his state of exhaustion there was a chance that this was all a figment of his imagination, lost in the bouts of insanity and hallucinations accompanying sleep deprivation. The odds increased as time passed, though Ianto hardly had the mind to bother with the calculations of change and probability.

But then a hushed voice answered his question, quietly falling between the crests of breath and exhale, "Thirty-five."

"Younger, then," Ianto decided, having received the answer to a long-plaguing question. Not that he knew the other Jack's age; but he was older, immortal or not. But the answer left him more confused, and definitely not something that his drowsy mind could comprehend. "But then, why did you pretend that you didn't know me? Why did you leave?"

"Sleep, Ianto," Jack whispered, his arms tightening around Ianto until Ianto was almost certain Jack's goal was to deprive him of oxygen to get him to sleep. And he let his mind drift, floating on tendrils of thread and thought, hearing and replaying in his mind, _"I love you, Ianto"_ , until he could almost believe it was true and even monsters had hope.

 

***

  
 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._  
   
Ianto fought the urge to shift on his feet, shoulders heavy with the weight of five sets of stares. It wasn't like he never had any viable suggestions, he had many. But perhaps nearly disappearing for the past few weeks had removed him from top of mind among those at Torchwood Three.

Or perhaps it was his suggestion. Ianto rather believed they didn't think he had a life outside of Torchwood.

"What? I do step out, on occasion."

Five more stares, although Rhys' was less stunned surprise and more reaction to the others, waiting to see how events played out.

Rhys had been a remarkable help of late, Ianto barely noticing the subtle shifts until one evening when he'd absently gone to feed Myfanwy and Rhys was there with a smile and a wave, already setting the girl free to fly and stretch her wings, maybe pick up a sheep or two. He'd rocked back on his heels, trying to remember the last time anyone else had fed the pterodactyl, trying to remember when anyone else had gone to the Archives to retrieve a file, trying to remember when he'd last done paperwork for Jack. It wasn't that he hadn't been busy; the days and nights had been filled with the rebuilding process in London, the education and dissemination of information regarding Torchwood and Avalon, meetings with global leaders (as Mr. Black's assistant, of course), and reparation projects within Cardiff herself.

Hardly his old duties.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd run a report or logged a case file. He hadn't hacked a computer in what felt like months and he most certainly hadn't altered any police records or government databases.

Come to think of it, the only thing he still did of his old duties was make coffee.

Ianto had spun slowly, quickly picking out Jack in his office. It was unspoken, his question, but Jack knew precisely what he was thinking and smirked before giving a "what are you on about?" shrug. Tosh giggled at her desk, wall of monitors blocking most the view so Ianto reasoned she must be watching the CCTV footage. She shrugged as well, and Ianto knew he'd been had.

And that, really, was the odd thing about life in the Hub following the dragon incursion. Life flowed around Ianto, patterns curving to allow his presence in the river, never blocking (unless thy name be Owen), but always permitting him to move as needed.

The others moved in kind, like Rhys taking over Ianto's 'tea-boy' duties, more than likely at Jack's request. It had helped reduce the stress, but not completely. And Ianto knew Jack was determined to reduce the stress in Ianto's life.

God, they were actually _talking_ since Jack had taken it upon himself that no reaction from Ianto meant no action.

Which was increasingly frustrating for Ianto who had never actually had to deal with a willing partner when faced with post-battle ... he wasn't sure what the psychology field would call it but certainly trauma played some part. Hell, they hadn't even attempted anything in the past week. They had just ... talked. Not that Ianto minded, he was actually learning details about Jack he'd never known; his years spent with the Time Agency, his childhood, his family ... and Ianto returned in kind. It was almost therapeutic, talking about the Battle, his childhood, finding Ms. White in the burning rubble of Avalon, his family and how much he missed them, but with time being what it was, he hadn't been home to see them.

They'd even gone out on a date. A real one. One that photojournalists had decided to interrupt and capture on film but a real date nonetheless.

Just, no sex, not until Ianto got over whatever was impeding his arousal. Fucking dragons. No kissing either, since Jack obviously didn't trust his self-control that much. They touched; held hands at the theatre which had nearly sent Ianto into a fit of frustrated anger, but he'd refrained from kicking the seat in front of him or cursing loudly in the silent pauses within the actor's monologue.

Not amusing, not in the slightest.

But most of the time, he kept himself buried in work and didn't think of certain things, stuffing the guilt so deep within him he was fairly sure it had compacted to the strength of a diamond like coal within the earth.

He focused on responsibility instead; current responsibility. Helping Sydney, Australia recover. Sending aid to Glasgow. Organizing relief efforts in New Delhi, an area decimated by the dragons before help arrived from the Americans. It wasn't just Britain helping; every major city was sending workers and supplies to the cities most devastated. Everyone was pitching in.

It'd be lovely to sit back and look from a view far away, to see the peoples of earth coming together to help the nations in trouble, but Ianto saw it far too up-close to see it as anything but personal; to see anything but failure in those fallen cities, on the faces of those who'd lost entire neighborhoods to the dragons. Those who'd lost their entire families, their homes, their livelihoods.

Ianto saw each and every face, even when the reports were closed.

He knew each of their names.

So, maybe the rest of the team had a reason for their disbelief. He had been rather focused lately.

"It's not far from here. They do karaoke?"

That sealed it for Gwen and Jack, who immediately began the dares and the bets, goading even Tosh into agreeing to sing something if they bought her enough drinks. Rhys just looked amused (Ianto really did wonder if anything phased the man), and Owen began stammering something about injury to his vocal cords in his youth.

By the time they'd reached _Lana's_ , the bets were already up to twenty quid for Owen to sing anything.

Ianto drove, and quietly listened to the laughter and taunts.

"Let's hear it for ... dear god, it's Torchwood. Everyone put your hands together for Torchwood!"

On second thought, coming to _Lana's_ might not have been the best idea Ianto had ever had.

The applause was thunderous; the club was filled with far more people than Ianto had seen in trips past. Even during its clubbing days. The more Ianto looked around, the more surprised he grew. He recognized many faces, faces of Avalon graduates and faces of the newly gifted, or rather, the ones who had always had a gift but hadn't known until Avalon's fight. Buried among them were many more, sitting at the tables with Avalon, some sitting as entire tables of people he didn't recognize but Ianto was rather overwhelmed.

This must be where the gifted came and gathered after hours; it really wasn't that big a surprise given Lana and her ability to draw people like moths to flame, though the size of the crowd was impressive. Karaoke, to Ianto's knowledge, wasn't that big a draw. More certain were the comforts of companionship, of being able to talk to others who knew and understood.

What truly surprised him, however, were the sheer number of people he knew weren't gifted, mingling with those who were.

It was too much to hope, but perhaps people had started getting over their fears.

Jack and the others strutted in, waving and smiling in typical Torchwood confident fashion. They were heroes now, recognized heroes, if the flashbulbs blinking from cameras and mobiles were any indicator, and it amused Ianto a bit that for a group so shrouded in secrecy they had so easily transitioned to public knowledge.

Ianto trailed in behind them, keeping a distance from the rest while they enjoyed their elevated status. A table actually cleared for Torchwood, Ianto saw, the previous occupants gesturing for Jack and Tosh to have their seats while they blended into the crowd of others watching. Ianto offered a small wish to any deity listening that this fame and awareness pass quickly, or else Owen's ego may grow too large and Ianto would be forced to deflate it with some scandalous CCTV photos or something of the like. Surely it couldn't last. New heroes would rise and the alien fighters would be just another public service.

Though Ianto hoped for Torchwood Three, it lasted a bit longer. If there were any deserving, it was that lot.

"And last but certainly not least, let's give a Lana's welcome to Ianto Jones!"

It didn't take Ianto long to locate Lana on the stage and focus his glare in her direction. The little imp just smiled brilliantly and waved him forward to join the Torchwood table. Humiliating didn't quite cover Ianto's feelings as he tried to slink past people who were cheering and clapping, shouting various things Ianto attempted to tune out and ignore like their thanks and love.

Lana met him halfway to the table, jumping into his arms as she'd done on nearly every other occasion, but this was the first time Ianto had felt uncomfortable catching her and returning the hug. While he spun her round, slowly as space would allow, he whispered into her ear, "I swear I'm never returning if you do that again."

To his dismay (were his threats really that ineffective?), Lana laughed. Her rich purr echoed around the expanses of the club, bouncing from speaker to speaker as her accented voice was lifted by the microphone she still carried. She gestured to all the people in the club, including everyone in the sweep of her hands, while the room quieted to listen. "We know you, Ianto Jones, every one of us. We were with him, we felt as he felt and now that feeling is each of ours. Avalon made a promise to Jean-Luc, a promise to be carried out in life or death."

Ianto struggled to breathe and tried to pull away, wanting nothing to do with the conversation, especially not in public, not in front of people who would see as that diamond chipped away at his control and the steady facade, but Lana held on, surprisingly strong despite her small frame.

"You're one of us, gifts or no. And you will always be."

Movement caught Ianto's frantic eye as he sought for escape, feeling much the caged animal on display at the zoo, Stephen stepping out of the shadows near the bar, arms crossed with a wry look upon his face. He knew and hadn't told Ianto? What was this promise? What ... no. Ianto refused to think about that because that meant death had been an accepted possibility and Ianto had _not_ authorized or given permission to anyone to die.

He hadn't.

He turned away from Stephen, unable to look at his old mentor any longer, and instead scanned the crowd. Many were now standing, watching, the gifted, Ianto realized, looking expectantly at him, like Ianto could magically pull flowers from his arse and wouldn't that be quite the sight to see. His hands were shaking, he could feel them vibrate as he clung to Lana's arms, felt like he was hyperventilating as well but he wasn't there. Not yet. His heart raced, though, running in fear within his chest like he so wished to run away from the scrutiny of the crowd of Avalon because the weight of their expectations was becoming too much; too much to carry while holding Lana.

Ianto heard a sniff echo from all around him; a quick glance down and he realized Lana was crying, god, Lana was _crying_. But smiling, a combination that Ianto never quite understood as it defied logic. With a sinking feeling, he remembered her gift, her empathy, and whether she was reading from him or reading from the crowd, the very concept of tears shed for him, for Avalon's acceptance, for ...

Fucking hell.

Licking his lips, Ianto looked up and around him again, looked at all the people watching he and Lana. Even the Torchwood table was quiet; they'd all paused in various moments in seating to watch.

Avalon's strength was gone; the one who had always been there with gifts and protection to shield them all. Maybe not gone, but missing. Ianto knew what his best friend meant to them, the unquestioned leader even if he lacked some form of formal title. They were in awe of what he could do, what he could teach, and that was gone, leaving a gaping hole in Avalon's stability and strength.

Ianto was responsible for that.

But they weren't angry. None of the faces read blame. Or hurt or anger.

 _"You became important to him. And with him, so too the tide of Avalon."_ Stephen had said ages ago at his father's home. _"Avalon stands behind you."_

They were missing Avalon's pillar. But Ianto had been loved by him, and now, Ianto was equally important in his absence to Avalon.

Fuck.

Ianto did the only thing he could think of after nodding his recognition to the others, to Avalon and all the gifted, he hugged Lana to him, smiling at her squeak which was carried by the microphone to the ears of everyone in attendance. Laughter joined the cheers which had demolished the stretching silence while they waited for Ianto's response and Lana worked her way out of Ianto's arms, berating him for ruining her mascara, then starting up the entertainment again, calling the next singer to the stage.

"Sit the fuck down, Ianto. You're ruining my chances of pulling tonight. Ow! Shite, Tosh! It's the truth!"

With a grateful glance at Tosh for shutting up Owen, Ianto searched for his chair and found it set back a bit from the table already. He couldn't remember pulling it out from the table to sit, but then it inched forward, waiting for him to sit, no hands or persons visibly present to move the chair.

Avalon.

Shaking his head at whomever was behind this particular little trick, Ianto sat down, trusting whomever was directing the chair and was moderately relieved when the chair slid the rest of the way forward, catching him and not further embarrassing him for the evening. It was something _he_ would have done, only back in their days of Avalon, and more than likely the teacher would have ended up on the floor with their feet in the air, much to the class' amusement.

How things had changed.

***

 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

Sidling up to the bar, Ianto waited for the next round of drinks while watching one of the latest round of salt-in-wound torture sessions. The comedy gambit had been far more entertaining and less harmful to his ears, but people were out in droves and having for all appearances far more enjoyment than Ianto ever would singing into a microphone for the public to hear. He couldn't deny it; Lana had a knack for hitting the vein of an entertainment goldmine. Or maybe it was just the patrons fueling the atmosphere, a sort of gifted cloud other places failed to fully utilize or develop.

Could just be that these people had more than enough reason to celebrate, too.

"Torchwood seems to be enjoying themselves."

Ianto looked up, surprise drawing him from contemplation of the stage, or rather, staring at the singer in hopes they might sit down to let one of the few with actual talent take the stage. Stephen had grabbed a spot next to him at some point, silent and stealthy as a cat, and was smirking like he'd caught the canary, too.

Looking back at table Torchwood, where Owen had two women on his lap, Gwen was on Rhys', and Tosh, Jack and Lana were participating in a drinking game of some sort (poor Tosh, but Ianto thought it was rather intentional on Jack's part -- and Lana's -- whether to distract her from Avalon and who still had yet to wake or to get her drunk enough to sing), Ianto had to smile. It was good seeing them laughing together, honest laughter, not fueled by stress or situations far beyond their control. Gwen and Rhys' wedding had been a start, but this night seemed the first in ages where they were together, all of them, and appeared to be having fun.

Having fun, and everyone knew who they were.

People had been buying drinks for the table throughout the night, coming up to share stories or shake hands; unreal if Ianto was to be asked.

And a little too much for him.

Ianto preferred the relative quiet and touch-free zone of the bar, retreating often to pick up whatever the table wanted, doing as he had always done as tea-boy for Torchwood. This time it was tequila shooters instead of coffee, however, and lime wedges instead of biscuits.

He caught Jack's eye, warming into a broad, full smile from the Captain which stole Ianto's breath. This Jack was far more at peace than the other. Perhaps immortality had a consequence Ianto hadn't considered. Deep down, Ianto knew it couldn't last; this Jack was younger, he would eventually have to leave to maintain timeliness. Torchwood Three needed Jack in its past; Ianto wasn't selfish enough to believe he had Jack for the rest of his life. But Jack had stayed when it mattered. And now ... Ianto felt himself warm under Jack's gaze, the man somehow affecting Ianto even at the distance, though it might have been Jack's tongue lavishly fondling his own wrist, licking a path that couldn't have all contained salt before shooting one of the few tequila shots left, before spending an exorbitant amount of time and pressure sucking his lime.

And then he winked, the bastard. Like they hadn't spent the last two weeks _not_ having sex. Of any kind.

Stephen must have caught Jack's antics because his chuckling was audible even over the slaying of "One."

"Yes, they're having a good time," Ianto all but growled, leaving the tray of drinks behind him for the moment; they could wait a few minutes. _Jack_ could wait a few minutes. He grabbed two from the tray and handed one to Stephen, there were enough there that a couple wouldn't be missed. "You didn't tell me about Avalon and this 'promise'."

"If I had, your team would be missing their good time tonight."

Ianto had to concede Stephen's point; if he had known, Ianto most certainly wouldn't have come to _Lana's_.

"And you would have missed Avalon's embrace. This is good for you, too, even if you've spent most of your evening hiding."

Scowling, Ianto threw back the tequila, not bothering with a response. He vehemently disagreed with Stephen, he'd have rather avoided such spectacle, but it would end up no better than arguing with Sheppard. He'd not win, no matter how strong his case. "They deserve this recognition."

"And you don't?" Stephen was sipping his tequila; Ianto rather believed that was akin to shooting brandy. "Ah-ah." Ianto was cut off before he could even open his mouth to protest. "You listen to me, Ianto. Because you choose the shadows does not mean your decisions are dark."

"I allowed children to fight," Ianto said simply, grabbing another shot glass from the tray. The barkeep had replaced the earlier two he had removed from the collection, he wasn't concerned he'd offer a dry platter to the team. He didn't look at Stephen; he couldn't. Staring at the stage (god, he much preferred the comedy to the sacrilegious massacre of the Stones), Ianto continued, "you said it yourself. Only monsters use children for protection."

"They _chose_ , Ianto." Stephen's voice intensified, sharpening around the edges in an effort to keep his voice down, but Ianto could almost feel the anger pouring off him. "You did not use anyone in that battle. We chose to fight. The children, too. Do not mock what we have lost by dismissing our involvement. You made your choices, so did we."

A hand stopped Ianto's from raising the glass to his lips. He looked down, then travelled the hand to Stephen's shoulder and finally meeting his eyes. Stephen always was faster than sin. And uncomfortably poignant in his speech. The minutes stretched, expanding and encompassing each breath. But Stephen was not backing down, hard in his stance as he held on to Ianto, hard in his stare. "I meant no offense," Ianto said finally, acknowledging the costs to Avalon and the gifted as well as his mentor's part in the fight.

He waited for Stephen to release his wrist but it was kept in the vice grip. "And you're right," Ianto added slowly, "Avalon chose to fight." The hold on his wrist finally loosened, but Ianto didn't drink the tequila, not yet. He was too distracted by Stephen settling back against the bar looking far too smug. Ianto snorted and raised his glass. "Enjoy it, old man."

"Youth," Stephen scoffed, but Ianto could see the smile creeping in to crack the edges of that hard, resolute face Ianto had seen earlier. It wasn't a beating on the mat, but Ianto felt the sting of his wisdom all the same. Or rather, his stubbornness; Ianto wasn't prepared to call him wise. He'd pulled that trick on the conference phone so many months ago after all.

"And next, the man of many talents. I would not have believed it myself had I not heard him singing 'Light My Fire' while studying in the old courtyard and let me tell you, he lit my fire."

Ianto's elevated mood he'd shared with Stephen plummeted sharply as he heard Lana speak and he swallowed his tequila and grabbed another. "Never coming back here," he muttered, Stephen outright laughing at him. The woman was positively evil.

"So put your hands together for Ianto Jones!"

The entire Torchwood table spun on their seats, turning to look at him with varying degrees of amusement and disbelief, Jack's leaning more towards disbelief than amusement. Ianto ignored Jack's shouted, "You can sing?" and focused on the stage, where Lana smiled so innocently in her deep ruby halter and skirt. And boots that went to her thighs. Not proper stage-wear as anyone close could probably answer as to what, if any, color of knickers she preferred, but then, nothing about Lana was ever quite proper.

The impertinent vixen kissed his cheek as she directed him to the microphone. Never coming back. No birthdays.

Ianto glanced at the screen as he ran his fingers over the microphone.

Oh, she did not. Who puts that in a karaoke computer?

He turned, glaring, for an explanation and she just smiled sweetly and shrugged, mouthing that it was random.

Random his skinny pale arse. He knew a certain glue formula that might again find the light of day.

The music started and he took a deep breath, wishing he had another drink beside him.

 _"No one know what it's like  
To be the bad man,  
To be the sad man,  
Behind blue eyes."_  
   
He ignored everyone else, knowing the odds of him not walking off the stage were slim to none if he actually looked out, looked at all the eyes watching him, listening to him, singing this song of all songs.

This wasn't random. Chaos theory did not play with coincidence. Fate and lies, anger and pain, he lived this song. And he could feel it growing in his chest, boiling out in the words of _The Who_ ; his life was a masquerade, one he'd been raised to perform. He fought the words, his conscience wasn't empty, but his dreams were as lonely as his hours.

But who's to blame, who's the 'you'? On what could he pin his thoughts and feelings, his anger and pain? There was always an enemy, a bad guy fighting the good. But here the 'you' disappeared, wavering in silver sheen, a mirror long and tall in front of him.

The cost of vengeance, never absent but a black mark upon his soul.

The tempo increased, the notes dropping to allow him to fairly growl his pleas, his need for someone to bring him to his senses, to ground him when it all grew too much, too overwhelming. He had power, he had position and authority and he needed that person, that someone to root him in sanity, to bring him back to calm.

 _"If I swallow something evil,  
Put your finger down my throat.  
If I shiver, please give me your blanket,  
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat." _

He could feel his throat closing on that phrase, not needing the prompter to give him the lines.

Fuck, he missed that greatcoat, the scratch of wool against his back as they lay entwined upon a rooftop.

 _"Behind blue eyes."_

The notes lingered, then faded off, dwindling into silence. Ianto listened to the microphone stand thump back and forth after he released it, focused on the steadily increasing beats as it settled itself on the wood of the stage, ignoring the applause he assumed was there but it didn't matter.

Jack's eyes, in the audience, boring into his.

That mattered.

Ianto had no more than stepped off the stage when he felt a hand at the small of his back, pressing firmly and guiding him away from the stage. He couldn't feel anything else, numb to all sensation but the hand on his back, fingers spread wide, directing.

A door closed; dimly Ianto noted a lock closing, the silence as people were shut out and one was left.

 _Jack._

Individual nerves fired as multiple points of contact; fingers, Ianto realized, fingers tilting his chin to look at Jack, who looked back just as intense, eyes darkened by light and need. _Need_ , Ianto realized, Jack's short tether on self-control apparently lost.

"Never lonely."

The words weren't spoken so much as vowed, Ianto could feel himself breath the same heated breath as Jack, in tempo, racing like they'd run to the Hub and back but not from any physical exertion had they made their hearts race or their temperatures rise. Ianto could feel it, so damned close, Jack's chest pressing against his with each inhale, parting briefly to exhale but that only drew them closer, closer until Ianto felt his back against the wall, crushed by want and need.

 _Never lonely._

Ianto didn't answer, couldn't answer, but he knew Jack believed himself true, true as the press of his lips, true as the thrust of his hips and true as the hands nearly strangling as the refused to let go from their cradle of Ianto's jaw. Not that Ianto didn't respond in kind, using the wall to press back, to grind his erection against Jack's (finally) because he couldn't get enough, he wanted as much as Jack needed and it'd never be enough, enough touch, enough taste and enough desire.

Fuck, he needed this.

They spared no time, fingers plucking and pulling at buttons and belts, frantic to chase the fire through every cell. It was a race, not to an end but to a goal, a goal Ianto craved so much as desperately needed and had wanted ever since Jack left, before Jack left really.

This was _Jack_.

Time wasn't wasted as he was spun about, not a breath missed, Ianto captured them all and didn't compare so much as catalogued, cementing to memory _Jack_ , tasting of lime and tequila and passion.

He'd missed Jack.

"Next time, we're using a bed."

Laughter huffed at his ear, chilling the hair curled in sweat. Ianto didn't care, bed, desk, or wall, he just wanted and needed Jack _now_. Time slowed as movement ceased, Ianto feeling alarmingly bare for Jack's eyes as the warmth of the Captain's body vanished, an unnerving moment despite Ianto's trust. "Jack?"  
"Beautiful." The word was partnered with the touch of hands, running down his sides to squeeze his arse. The ability to breathe vanished as Ianto's nails dug into the tiled wall. _"Beautiful."_ Ianto had heard that before, had heard Jack speak that and had been here, if not the exact location but oh god, the first time they'd fucked, that night after Wilson, in Lana's club. Ianto had danced, and they'd fucked, shagged rough and dirty against the wall.

And Jack had called him beautiful.

"Jack..." Ianto began, pressing into Jack's hands, turning his head to invite a kiss, the kiss he'd denied that first time, denied because a kiss meant too much and stabbed too deep. Ianto didn't think himself sentimental, but this meant something, this meant ... a shift. A shift towards what, Ianto didn't know, Ianto had lost that Jack eventually, he'd lose this one as well. He had to, to bring the past. But he had this now. He had _Jack_.

Not much time was spent in preparation, Ianto arching a brow as Jack pulled a tube of slick from his pocket but not complaining at any presumption, quick, as neither were patient to draw out what had been building and compounding since the beginning, since Jack had been found and future set in motion.

Metaphysical circles of time, moments both identical and dissimilar, shifting forward to advance yet always repeating, Ianto felt his fingers slip and skid against the tile as Jack entered him. He found his grip, pushing back as Jack steadied himself, settling hot and deep and fuck, Ianto needed him to move.

Noisier, this time, this circle as Ianto scrambled to maintain his purchase against the wall, Jack was vocal with every thought and touch, Ianto's name not a whisper but a cry. There was no coat, no wool scraping across his legs, but there was Jack, Jack speaking his name over and over as they balanced precariously against the wall. Each movement, each arch threatened to tumble them to the floor but they stood, Ianto swearing sometimes the words on Jack's tongue foreign and alien, the words smothered as Ianto twisted for a kiss which begged for release.

"Come for me."

Ianto balanced himself, braced with one hand as Jack thrusts grew even faster, harder, slick sounds of skin, sweat, and lube the rhythm Ianto followed as he ran a hand over his cock twice before spilling over the edge, crying out Jack's name as he came. He could feel Jack follow, Ianto knew he did, but his ears rang so loud it threatened to drown out Jack's voice, just a moment, because Jack's voice was an insistent buzz, pulling Ianto from the haze he'd drifted upon while lazing in the sensation.

"Jack."

"Hmm?" Jack's voice was close to his ear, resting on his shoulder and supporting Ianto as he sagged against the wall. The desire to sleep was great, but Ianto knew they were in a loo of all places, with all of Torchwood and half of Avalon outside the door, sure to watch as they exited smelling and looking of sex. And the thought did drift across Ianto's mind, relief that his bits were all functioning properly and this whole hiatus on sex would hopefully come to an end. It was important to say, though, important for Jack to know as much as it was important for Jack to tell Ianto because the circles rounded, presenting past into future and future into past. Jack needed to know, no matter where or when he was.

"Never lonely."

***

 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

Despite the assistance from Rhys in alleviating some of the more mundane responsibilities from Ianto, one thing still hadn't changed: his status as 'tea-boy'. Not that Ianto particularly minded, there was something relaxing and zen-like about brewing coffee and so he hadn't cursed Owen's interruption to put on a fresh pot. That would require speaking and they still were at odds.

Sure he was busy, but they were all busy. Reports upon reports had been flooding the Torchwood and police phone lines of suspected alien activity after the stark reality of alien existence was forced upon the disbelieving public. Every little thing was blamed on aliens in the paranoia that followed the incursion just a short thirty-nine days ago; paranoia which reached into the highest echelons of the world's governments. It was ridiculous and time consuming, checking each and every report and pulling Ianto away from other duties more in line with Mr. Black's responsibilities. Add to that, priority fell not on the most believable and probable, but rather the ones who had the strongest pull and the loudest public voice.

Fat lot of good that did when the Rift was still as active as ever.

The last sighting had been a small house in Heath, reports of vandalism and noises disturbing the home owners.

Gwen and Rhys' investigation had uncovered not a terrible threat from a violent nocturnal Hezien, but rather the wanderings of a very bored house cat.

File number six-seventy-six since Torchwood went public, closed.

Tapping his stylus quickly over the messages, pages upon pages of alien reports, Ianto gave up with attempting order in the chaos and rather focused his attention on the coffee, something he could perform by rote and required none of the thought and consideration of interpreting leaky pipes for that pesky alien who kept pissing on the walls of a house in Splott.

He shoved his PDA back into his pocket and decided coffee first, then the few dishes in the sink. With a grimace at the sides of the glass carafe dotted with coffee grounds, Ianto placed a wager that Jack had been the last to make (or in Jack's case, attempt) a pot of coffee, which meant a small disaster existed in and around the filter. No matter how often Ianto tried to instruct the others in the proper methodology of brewing coffee, the simplest task escaped even the most capable. Like pouring the grounds _into_ the filter.

He'd even gone so far as to draw a diagram, with giant specs falling into the filter. At some point, the carafe had grown arms, legs, and a suit, clinging to a coffee machine with braces. Might have been clinging; could have been humping the 'brew' button with the carafe handle; Ianto wasn't sure. Owen wasn't the most gifted artist.

Ianto had removed the drawings and had instead opted for demanding that no one touch the machine. Jack, of course, failed to listen even on the best occasions.

The lid of the filter unit was slightly stuck; Ianto gave it a gentle tug and the lid flung back on its latches like it was spring loaded, spilling red rose petals over its lip to cascade onto the floor. Hundreds of them, perfect and fragrant, hundreds tumbling out after Ianto had released the lid.

No.

He was done with this.

He was done with them.

 _Your choice is ours, Ianto. And our choice is yours."_

Motion out of the corner of his eye drew Ianto's attention one-eighty as he spun on his heel, trying to capture the faery in the act, to talk with them, to ask them what they wanted, why they still watched. Rose petals filled the dirty mugs and the clean left out to dry; red satin bubbling the scent of rose straight to his brain as it continued to deny what he saw.

No no _no_.

He'd made his choices.

People suffered because of his choices.

J-no. He wasn't going to think of that. He wasn't going to picture what was behind the door he wouldn't walk through. That was his choice personified. Pale skin and freckles, so very still.

He was through with them.

Laughter echoed behind him, childish, gleeful, high-pitched and taunting.

Ianto whipped about, hearing the hummingbird flap of wings but saw nothing, nothing to confirm the presence he felt in the room. He knew they were here, watching. They were in the room because the carafe now stank of roses, petals crushed against the glass where stuck grounds were pressed in velvet red.

No.

No, no, _no_.

Choices. He'd made choices and look where it had gotten him, look where it had gotten others, trampled beneath the weight of his choices. Twenty-four dead. Thousands throughout the world had died due to the dragons. Alien threat. His responsibility. He was responsible, his choices. His friends; his family. The world had been saved, Britain had survived.

But one ...

No.

That was off limits. The door he wouldn't open. He _couldn't_.

That was his choice, behind the door.

His fucking choice.

His choice, while _they_ watched. The faery, with the power of the elements, sat back and watched as he made the choices they'd taunted him with. Not his choices; _their_ choices. He just was the puppet, jerked around while they played spin the bottle with his world, laughing while people died, dancing as the world burned.

Choices? He never had a fucking choice. In any of it.

In fury, he threw the carafe at the wall, enjoying the gratifying scratch of glass as it struck stone before it shattered, splintering into shards of clear daggers piercing the blood red petals as they fought for space within the same time. He didn't wait for the crystal, bleeding tears to fall before Ianto added ceramic to the mix, glass tinkling like hundreds of bells on a blanket of rose petals. Every mug, one at a time, cups of his _choice_ crashing into the wall he knew was simple stone but he could swear he could see the shapes of the faery, laughing and taunting as yet another coffee mug broke in a hundred pieces and joined the littered remains of its kin on the floor.

The floor bled his choice.

Ianto turned away, shaking as the anger fled, hands braced against the sink as he tried to regain his control. This wasn't fair. He'd made his choices. And now ... no. No no _no_. They couldn't still be watching, there was nothing more for him to give.

"Oi! Jack, tea-boy's gone mental."

Owen's voice sounded harsh as nails scratching on a chalkboard, and for a moment, Ianto remembered a time so long ago when the world was innocent and the sound of Owen's voice had been all that he could hear, his scent all that Ianto could smell. The pheromones. God, that had been when all this started, when Avalon had collided with Torchwood and Ianto's life changed. Back when Jack was still Jack and Ianto had dry humped his boss' leg while he fondled the fabric of Jack's shirt. He'd been nobody then; a quiet figure sticking to the shadows, maintaining order while life spun around him. His sole purpose for living had been Lisa.

Then there was that shift, that moment in time when nothing could ever return to normal. He'd believed the destruction of Torchwood One had been that defining moment, death to everything he'd known and loved. But it had been Rani. Rani and what must have been supporters of the dragon-kind. He'd died that day, figuratively and literally. He couldn't go back. Torchwood One was merely a push towards this, towards Cardiff, towards now, when years of quiet shadows and calculations culminated to light etching every surface, revealing Avalon and Torchwood in the hidden depths of that brilliantly cut diamond, shattering prisms of color across every wall.

Jack was right.

Everything had changed.

And Ianto was no longer that tea-boy cleaning up after Owen's deliberate spill.

He straightened from his lean on the kitchenette sink, straightened his suit where it had been displaced or wrinkled, reapplying the formality and pristine nature the clean lines of the suit offered. Everyone was crammed into the kitchenette, Ianto distantly observed the concerned looks and the eyes darting from the mess behind him back to him again. Jack was talking, but Ianto wasn't listening, his own focus on Owen. Ianto raised his chin, not a great degree but enough to feel the effects trickle down his spine, freezing the vertebrae into a rigid line.

Ianto had faced dragons and faeries, weevils and Cybermen. He'd seen death and chaos, he'd seen life and passion. He'd ordered war, he'd sentenced lives. He'd felt pain, he'd felt love, he'd felt both in their loss and more in their gain.

For all he cared, Owen could go fuck himself.

And as Ianto stared, almost daring the man to speak again, Owen took a step _back_.

Ianto didn't smirk, his face felt far too immobile to move at all, but he felt the warmth spread from head to toe, lighting a path along his nerves until cell was singing in harmony. It was near euphoric, maybe Owen was correct and he had lost what tentative hold he had on sanity. But not since, well, he couldn't remember a time he'd felt so at peace, peace with himself, his choices, fuck, even knowing the faery still watched. Maybe it was the endorphins racing through his system as a result of the fury, but it was something.

Something new, something different.

He took a slow glance behind him, surprised to see the coffee machine on the floor as well; he didn't remember throwing it, but he must have; the cord lay snake-like among the blood red petals and glass. There were petals everywhere and he was standing in the midst of them, a veritable phoenix standing in its ashes. This did make him smile, remembering the burning of Avalon and the glass panes of the unicorn and the phoenix. Avalon had risen from those ashes, risen and fought back with all her might.

And as all the sleepers woke from the strain of the battle, she was rising again. Avalon was not one to suffer death.

Neither was Ianto. It was pure and simple, laid out in Black and White.

"Make your own bloody coffee." Ianto finally told Owen, speaking calmly, enunciating every word as he stepped from the petals, before he walked past his speechless team. His feet moved him without conscious thought, acceding to the desire most strongly fighting for dominance. Not Jack, although that was a desire which physically stopped Ianto before he reached his desk, displaced by the fire in the Information Center and the subsequent rebuilding construction in its temporary home within the Hub and he'd just never gotten around to moving it back.

Ianto looked down at the hands holding him in place, then to the face connected to the hands. Jack. Every much the same Jack as the one he knew before, if not a slightly less aged Jack. To the core, Jack was the same as he'd always been, in all the time Ianto had known him. This Jack, his Jack, older Jack; all one in the same. Jack who would be a hero in future time, Jack who was a hero in the current one and Jack who was a hero in the past.

Time lines were funny things. Because this scarred Jack was definitely not immortal didn't make the one Ianto loved any less _then_ as he was now. _Loved_. The word both scared the hell out of Ianto and lent him courage as he pushed Jack back against his desk without care for who watched or listened. It didn't matter, and he was tired of thinking it did. The kiss was neither gentle nor polite and Ianto could feel Jack's cock grow hard and hot against his thigh. On most occasions, Ianto might have taken advantage of the situation, he had before, teasing the other Jack against the side of the SUV at his father's ... but this wasn't about teasing. It wasn't about toying. Ianto pushed harder, feeling Jack's hands slip from his shoulders to grasp onto the desk for purchase as his boots skidded on the floor of the Hub. This was all about everything Ianto wanted and needed, and as he thought he spoke with lips and tongue, everything he wanted and everything he needed to give.

Because as much as fate attempted to intervene, he needed this.

But not because he some how depended on Jack; he'd learned that wasn't necessary.

He bloody loved the man.

If that made him a fool, knowing that tying down Jack was as easy as capturing the wind, then he would enjoy being the fool and dance in the wind while the wind blew.

Ianto stopped the kiss once he felt Jack's hands turn grabbier, clutching at his clothing in effort to remove them. Now wasn't the time for that, especially not in front of the others. "Love you," Ianto whispered just loud enough for Jack to hear as he pulled away, fingers tracing Jack's jawline as he smiled. "I'm fine, quit worrying. I just need some time away."

Jack's reaction to his words were almost comical, his tongue tripping over itself to say anything before he opted to keep silent. Ianto grinned as he worked around Jack, powering down his computer and turning off the small lamp on his desk. He turned to leave but Jack pulled him back for a kiss not unequal to the first, leaving Ianto's knees a bit shaky and his breath uneven. An answer and reply; Ianto knew how Jack felt, he'd made it no secret. But the confirmation was nice.

"You're such a bastard," Jack rasped as Ianto pulled away.

Smirking, Ianto flicked his eyes down to Jack's crotch where the trousers were most clearly tented and straining at the seams. With a half-hearted shrug, Ianto picked up his keys and turned away, leaving Jack cursing after him but leaning unashamed against Ianto's desk as the rest of the team was exposed to the full view of the extent of Jack's arousal.

Ianto almost stayed, very nearly did but the desire for that something else pulled stronger than even Jack, walking unobstructed to the hidden lift to the Plas; a few keystrokes on his PDA triggering the lift which would carry him street-side.

He'd made it to the car park and almost to his car when he heard footsteps chasing after him. Even in the dark of night, he knew those footsteps and so refrained from pulling his gun at the one approaching. "Gwen," Ianto simply stated, sort of a greeting, almost a dismissal. He didn't want to speak with anyone, and his instant thoughts, despite their improved relationship, was that she was to ask him some inane question as she tried to understand why he'd thrown the bloody coffee pot.

Sure enough, the bobbed brunette haircut appeared under the lights. Only Gwen could have run fast enough to catch him, anyway.

"Ianto."

They stared at each other for a moment, Ianto waiting for the question he knew was to come and Gwen, well, Ianto assumed she needed to catch her breath.

"The business with the petals, it's the faeries, isn't it? What's going on, Ianto? Are you in trouble?"

Both the question and her concern surprised Ianto, and he realized again he might have misjudged Gwen. He chided himself, remembering their conversation about judgment they had held in the pipes before meeting their first dragon and her bravery on the air field. For all the naivety there was experience, and while Gwen still, in years, might be a novice in all things Torchwood, she did understand. And that, perhaps, was where he failed to give her credit. "It's just a game. I'm fine."

Ianto tried to smile, he really did. But thinking of the faeries, of their overwhelming presence at times and the choices they demanded made Ianto grimace.

Gwen wasn't fooled, either.

"They don't play fair, Ianto."

No, they didn't. And point to Gwen. But discussion of fate and choice and the predetermination of actions was not something Ianto wished to be partaking in at the moment. "They don't," Ianto agreed, flashes of petals pouring out of the filter threatened to drown the person he didn't want to think about, choking him as he stood on the air field. Ianto found the key to his car and unlocked it, hoping Gwen would take the hint and go back to the Hub. The faery and his involvement were not something he wanted to talk about.

Ianto's agreement seemed to give Gwen pause, and for a moment, Ianto thought he had won his escape.

"You're coming back, yeah? 'Cos we need you here."

Gwen spoke quietly, the earnestness of her plea written on her face, easily seen in the light of the street lights. Ianto thought at first he had just imagined it, but no, she was waiting for his response, arms crossed over her chest, wedding ring glinting.

"Of course. What would you do for coffee otherwise?" Ianto smiled as he tried to pass off her concern with humor. He opened his car door, hoping she would catch the hint this time and let him leave.

"No, I don't think so, Ianto Jones." His door shut and he was almost stunned silent as she stepped in front of him, standing between him, the car door, and escape. "This is more than your coffee. There's something going on and you shouldn't be alone, not with those bloody faeries out there."

Gwen Cooper-Williams. Ready to take on a dragon with a single bullet and apparently willing to fight against the faery. Ianto had to admire her courage. "I'll not be alone, I'm going home."

"To your flat? But Jack's here."

Ianto smiled, he couldn't help himself. "No, to my father's."

Her eyes widened in surprise, and Ianto noted sadly that while he'd never offered the information, no one had ever thought to ask. "I didn't know ... I thought Lisa ... " Gwen stumbled around for a moment as an awkward silence stretched. "Is it just your father?"

Ianto shook his head, relatively certain that the information was about as useful to the public as him announcing his favorite color was navy blue. "I have a sister and twin nephews. They all stay at my father's since her husband was killed during the Battle."

"Oh god, this one?" Ianto shook his head, he'd never consider the war against the dragons as the Battle, only one earned that name. Perhaps some savvy reporter would coin a term but for now, it remained too close for casual naming. Gwen put two and two together and rested a hand on his arm, unnerving even under the best circumstances, but after the combined efforts of the most recent conflict and reuniting with Torchwood One survivors, his recoil against touch had dropped dramatically. "You lost a lot that day."

Torchwood would do that to a person. Ianto shrugged but Gwen continued. "It's just me, ya know. My mum died when I was just a kid. Dad passed a year before I became a constable. He always wanted to see his girl follow in his footsteps, but he never got the chance."

Ianto knew, it was in her file including his manner of death in line of duty, but he didn't mention. "You'd have made him proud, Gwen. You've surpassed everything he could have imagined for you."

Gwen's smile was radiant. "You think? You lot are really my family now." She quickly grew somber again, Ianto could almost visibly see when the thought struck her. "What about your mum? You didn't mention her."

Ianto damned himself for ever bringing up the topic of family. Once Gwen knew of a topic, she wouldn't quit, especially not when she'd known him for years and never even knew he had a family. He supposed that made her a good PC. "She died." Ianto gestured at his car, not-too-subtly changing the topic. "If you don't mind? It's fairly late already."

"You're coming back?"

The second time she asked, and Ianto supposed Jack's departure ages ago had set a precedent that wouldn't soon be forgotten by some. Ianto didn't have a blue box and a Doctor to escape with, however, and he had no intention of permanently leaving Cardiff. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Will you be okay without me until then?"

He'd meant for levity, but Gwen seemed to take his question seriously, carefully considering before answering. "Maybe. Torchwood wouldn't run without you, Ianto. And not just your coffee. I don't think I ever thanked you for what you did." Ianto opened his mouth to tell her there was nothing to thank him for, but she covered his mouth with her hand and continued. "You kept us together while Jack was gone. You were certain about the threat and kept pushing us to prepare. You made the connections and informed the rest of the world to prepare them." Ianto cringed when he heard her voice crack. "You saved my life and made sure we had our wedding. I don't think anyone's thanked you for saving all of us."

Gwen removed her hand only then, but instead of being able to refute what she said, Ianto found himself with an armful of Gwen, her small frame feeling extraordinarily large as she hugged him with the fierceness of a bear. He couldn't deny what he had done, he'd at least attempted to do everything she'd said. But he hadn't always succeeded; the past always looking better in the review.

At the same time, however, Ianto couldn't deny that Gwen's thanks and acknowledgment meant something, a tiny glimmer of _something_ buried deep and hidden within him, rarely accessed or acknowledged. Ianto could almost pretend it was Ms. White speaking the praise, lavishing it on as she would on the one who had succeeded her in command.

Lavishing it on as if he were her son.

If Ianto squeezed Gwen just a bit tighter for speaking those words and if he kissed the top of her head for her kindness, he had merely been driven to it by the stress of the day.

Ianto extricated himself from Gwen once he was certain enough time had passed that Gwen's voice wouldn't crackle again when she spoke. Not that he gave much time for the opportunity, just bid his farewell and got into his car. She was still watching as he pulled away, waving as he drove off. He wondered how long it would be before she convinced Tosh to get into his personnel records; not that they'd find anything, even with Tosh's skill at the computer. Not long, he imagined, not with Tosh's curiosity piqued. They might even ask Jack, but Ianto was fairly certain Jack wouldn't breathe a word about his mother or any additional information about his father, sister, and nephews.

His family was safe.

Just to be sure, Ianto checked on each when he arrived at his father's house, slipping in the front door and avoiding all the creaky steps he'd avoided as a kid. He checked first on his father, then his sister, then watched Bryce and Gareth sleep, reassuring himself that they all still lived, and perhaps revelling a moment in their safety despite all that had happened, before heading back downstairs. He didn't go to his room, he opted instead for the couch in the sitting room, the long couch with the hard pillows and his favorite blanket wrapped tight around him.

If it was the long couch his best friend had slept on the last time he was here, it was merely coincidence.

And if his favorite blanket was the one his mother had given him for his sixth birthday, the birthday she had missed but at the time he pretended he could smell her perfume in the blanket threads and spent the next week wrapped in it, that was pure chance as well.

 

***

  
 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

Ianto woke to the smell of coffee so tantalizingly close he was fairly certain he'd fallen asleep on coffee beans. Through bleary eyes, he could just make out a mug floating in front of his face, slim fingers moving it around like the motion would inspire him to move.

It did, not that he'd admit it to his sister.

He sat up with a groan, his back stiff from the short night; a quick glance at his watch told him he'd been asleep for less than three hours. He took the proffered mug once he'd got himself settled on the couch; soon disrupted as Elaine curled up under the blanket next to him. Ianto took a sip, relieved his family knew how to brew a cup of coffee; he didn't fancy facing another coffee machine soon.

"Nearly scared me half to death when I found you here this morning. What time did you get in?"

Ianto grimaced as Elaine giggled and tried to push his hair, which must have been awful if she was even trying to fix it, back into place. Either she succeeded or she gave up because she stilled beside him. "Late. Early." Ianto took another sip of coffee, more a gulp which burned like alcohol without the fire down his throat.

"Dad took the boys to the store to keep it quiet a bit longer, otherwise it would have been even earlier. You should hear what the ladies down at the store say about you Torchwood lot." Elaine laughed and Ianto cringed at the thought of what gossiping women might be saying . He'd grown up listening to their chatter, and often none of it was kind. "They are positively entranced by that 'Captain Harkness' and Colonel Sheppard, though they think that one's using alien hair products. 'Course, old Mrs. Ellis swears her son Dewey is a member of Torchwood."

"Dewey Ellis?" Ianto frowned, thinking back to what he knew about the village gossip, "I thought he ran off with his girlfriend from Swansea because his mum hated the idea of him marrying a Catholic?"

"He did!" Elaine stole Ianto's coffee mug from him to take a sip before handing it back. "Has three kids now. Not that Mrs. Ellis will admit to 'em. He wouldn't work with Torchwood anyways, always drank more than he worked." They sat in silence for a while after that, Ianto drinking the rest of the coffee before setting the mug down on the end table.

Elaine broke the silence first. "I was so scared when your call came though." Ianto had included them on the emergency band just in case, he knew that was probably a violation in Torchwood code but he really couldn't be arsed about it. He'd figured Ms. White wouldn't have disagreed, had she been watching his every action. "It was Canary Wharf all over again. I was so scared I'd lose you, too."

"You didn't lose me." Ianto gave his sister a one-armed hug, holding her as she clung to him in quite a different fashion than Gwen had the night before. Where Gwen's had been fierce, Elaine's was desperate. Ianto couldn't blame her; the dragons had been terrifying and Elaine had two children to worry about and their family was so small. But the worst hadn't happened, Britain still stood as did his father's home and his family was safe. Secure. Whole.

Ianto didn't know where or when his father was from, but what family existed in this time still lived. And for all the destruction and horrors, losses and sacrifices, that was something. A small something in relative scope, but a small hope, a small smile of success.

He'd saved his family.

"I hate that you stay at that bloody place," Elaine mumbled into his sleeve. Ianto didn't look down when he felt her fingers knot into his wrinkled shirt at his chest, just covered her hand with his; he'd sat with Elaine enough in the past to have the art of sister-comfort down pat. "But it was easier knowing it was you who took mum's place and was out there protecting us."

He'd almost failed, in a spectacular sense, but he didn't tell his sister that. She didn't need to know how close they'd all come to falling. If it hadn't been for Avalon, if it hadn't been for Sheppard and Ronon, if it hadn't been for Jack and Owen and all the others, they most certainly would have failed.

"I made a promise to you after Gavin died, Ellie. I will do everything to protect our family." Ianto rested his chin on Elaine's head and pulled the blanket tighter around them. Even if it meant taking Ms. White's place. Family was important, and like Gwen had said, the team had become family as well. So many responsibilities, so many families. So much to protect. "Including running around Cardiff being chased by a dragon. The damned things looked like my birthday cake two years ago. I swear, you'd better put a kitten on my next cake. Big, fluffy harmless kitten. I don't care what the twin terrors say, no more kings and queens, no more dragons. Just a big, harmless kitten."

Elaine giggled like Ianto hoped, taking a shaky breath before loosening her grip on his hand. "Fluffy kitten. Got it. Any other requests, King Ianto?"

Ianto nudged his sister with his shoulder, silently chiding her for the nickname he really hoped she didn't start using in common practice. A giant yawn cracked his features; Ianto felt seventy for all he wasn't quite thirty. He'd believed that events had aged Stephen; he should probably assume they had aged him as well. Maybe it was just the let down from the intensity of war; after the Battle at Torchwood One, there hadn't been time to think or rest, he had simply moved on to the next stage in his plans. this time, however, the recovery period was inching along at an ever increasingly slow pace and dragging him unwilling along for the ride. What did he want most, next to his family?

"Yeah. How about a long sleep until the next emergency?"

***

 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

It was hardly the next emergency that woke Ianto from his doze. He and Elaine hadn't moved until their father came up with Ianto's nephews, the three apparently having found a large quantity of sugar given the range of the twin's vocals. Elaine got up with an admonishment to their father and herded the twins outside to run off some of their seemingly unlimited energy. Ianto rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grinned at his father who held out a large travel mug of coffee from the store.

Must be a genetic thing to think that coffee was the answer for everything.  
   
"Don't suppose this is just a visit."

Point to his father, but Ianto hadn't the faintest idea where to begin, much less how to start. He padded over to his father's pipe stand instead, picking it up as well as the tin of tobacco and silently handed it to Broderick before falling back onto the couch to curl back up in the blanket with his coffee. His father didn't ask questions, just started preparing the pipe while rambling about the day-to-days at the store.

"Grace Roberts, you remember her? Of course you do, you remember everything, don't you, dear boy. Your mother," Broderick waved the bell of the pipe at Ianto as he settled back into his chair, the rich, spicy smoke curling up with its calming caress. Ianto inhaled deep and sipped his coffee, the scents blending into an earthy scent of all things good as his father continued, "Your mother was the same way. Couldn't forget a face or a name. Not quite as good as you, but a mind like a steel trap."

She had no apparent problem forgetting her children or birthdays, but Ianto wasn't going to remind his father of this fact, not while he was smiling with fondness at the memories.

"Oh, to be sure, her work consumed her. But you two are far more alike than you might care to think."

Ianto knew his grimace had nothing to do with the temperature of the coffee, and he'd apologize to his father if he would have actually meant it. Broderick found it amusing all the same, laughing as he puffed on his pipe. The years and times, not even the death of his wife had ever seemed to dent the man's spirits and Ianto wished he took after his father more.

"She hated coffee, though. You got that from me." His father beamed with pride now and Ianto snorted as he took a sip of the perfect cup of coffee Broderick had brewed. Could have been worse, Ianto supposed. He could have inherited his father's sense of style instead. "The faeries too, it seems. Pesky little buggers, aren't they? Always meddling in something or another."

This time, Ianto choked on his drink rather than swallowing it properly, coughing and sputtering as he saw on the coffee table what his father was gesturing towards with his pipe. Two red rose petals in clear view, resting on the top of a book of Celtic myths and legends. Rather than the rage he had felt the day before, Ianto could only stare in stunned silence as he wiped coffee from his chin. His father didn't appear to either notice or care about Ianto's predicament, just continued on, puffing with a smile on his pipe.

"In fact, I remember the night of our wedding. Oh, but your mother looked beautiful that day. Carried my Viviene up to the bedroom, ran her right into the corner of the wall up at the top of the stairs but it didn't matter, we were laughing so. More nerves than naught, I think. I was so afraid of screwing up she'd leave me without a second thought." His father paused, and for that Ianto was glad, the images of his parents' wedding night was one he did not need etched into memory. There were just things he did not need to know about his parents, plenty he wished he did know, but their wedding night was not one of them.

Ianto squirmed on the couch as father continued, wondering if for once, the faeries couldn't play his way and just ... swallow him, the couch, the blanket and his coffee up in their timeless forest which had taken Jasmine. "Walked into the bedroom and had to blink to make sure I'd entered the right house. Bed was buried in rose petals, spilling off the bed and onto the floor, trailing to the door. Bless your mum, she thought I'd arranged it all. Didn't have the heart to tell her I had nothing to do with it. Made you that night, we did, right on top of those petals. Pesky little buggers that they are, but they can set a mood. Nine months later and you come around, all solemn and so rare with your smile. Thought for a while I'd done something wrong, should've told your mum the truth or knocked those petals to the floor 'cause they'd stolen your joy. But every now and then, sometimes with reason and sometimes just out of the blue, you'd laugh and it'd just light up the house. And now you've gone and saved the joy of the world. Guess your old man didn't do so wrong after all."

Wondering if it was too early to begin drinking something heavier than coffee, Ianto finally found his voice for the first time since his father arrived. "You know about the faeries? They're dangerous creatures."

"Dangerous? Oh, sure, they get a little carried away with their games sometimes, but I wouldn't call 'em dangerous. Quite beautiful when they want to be. Only explanation I have for my boy surviving that accursed battle at Canary Wharf when so many others didn't." The joviality drained from his father's voice as he remembered, as did Ianto, all that had been lost that day. Broderick had gained a full household following so many years of solitude after Ianto and Elaine had left for their careers.

"I survived because I had to." Ianto said carefully, avoiding all mentions of his true purpose in his will to live.

"Yes, yes. And I suppose you escaped carrying a partially converted Cyberman and a conversion unit all on your charm and wiles." Ianto gaped at his father who just winked and smiled. "You're smart, my boy, but even intellect and cunning didn't get most out of that building."

Unexpected shame burned his cheeks, threatening Ianto's loose control over his emotions as only his father could do. In retrospect, it hadn't been the wisest choice of actions and his rationale and logic questionable at best, but to have his father know that he had been so craftily duped by the Cyberman and to have made such an egregious error in judgement was humiliating. Instead of looking at Broderick, Ianto picked at a piece of fuzz still connected to the blanket, one of many spots on the blanket worn by time and love.

"Did mum know?" Ianto finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse and crackled with embarrassment and a lingering grief that he'd never been able to shake for the events of that final day; the trust which had been broken, the havoc he'd almost unleashed on the world once again, and the loss of a final piece of Torchwood One.

"I don't believe so; she never mentioned it. Ianto." Reluctantly (and feeling like he was again five years old), Ianto quit fidgeting with the blanket and looked his father in the eyes, holding his head high despite the heat in his ears and the flush in his face. "Everything happens for a purpose, even the most doubtful of choices. You acted out of desperation and loyalty and I can hardly find fault with that. After all, it led you to become the man you are today."

If Ianto had believed his face on fire before, that compared little to the stain of red flushing his cheeks now under his father's praise. Ianto began and stopped himself numerous times, not sure how to respond and feeling desperately inadequate and undeserving given the losses and destruction still collected during the fight against the dragons. Everything he could think of to say just sounded so ... trivial.

Finally, he realized what he could ask. "You seem to know everything-"

"Me? No, must've been your friend Jack who told me about Lisa."

Ianto didn't believe his father for a moment, given Broderick's knowledge of the faeries and of his wife's death, so Ianto continued. "Can you tell me ... what do you know ... I have ... my friend," Ianto fumbled around, trying to talk about precisely what he'd spent the past weeks avoiding talking about. He knew it was ridiculous, that he was handling this childishly, but thinking meant acknowledging and for his part, Ianto couldn't think about it, much less speak of it. He knew there must be a whole process of guilt in those self-help books, and at the present moment he probably fell into whatever step was labeled 'denial,' but he just _couldn't_ for all that he should.

Broderick watched Ianto for what felt like hours, just silence stretching between the two of them after Ianto's voice trailed away. It was uncomfortable, having his father's focus solely directed at him, but Ianto remained still, knowing he had sounded as desperate as he felt for just a brief reassurance. His father had spoken of choices and purpose, and Ianto knew there must be a purpose in this. There had to be. There was an answering reply for every decision made, his father had said as much.

Ianto just simply could not see the purpose in his one choice, however.

"I think you already know the answer, Ianto. And how will you accept it if you can't even speak his name to recognize the life?"

Sullenly, Ianto nodded, knowing his father was right but at the same time, avoidance had worked so well for him. After all, he'd managed to deny Lisa's death for a good year before admitting the Cyberman portion had won long before she'd been killed by Torchwood Three.

"Go see him, it'll just get harder the longer you stay away."

"I will," Ianto promised; almost sounding convinced of his own words.

"Ianto Llacheu Jones..." Broderick warned, just as he had when Ianto was twelve and broken a window in the store next to his father's with a pellet from a mis-fired slingshot.

"Fine, fine. I will." And this time, he meant it.

***

 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

"Uncle Ianto!"

Only the twin warning cries alerted Ianto of the incoming child-sized missiles which struck and attached themselves to his legs. They'd grown like weeds since last he saw them, and they easily pulled him down to the grass, suit trousers be damned. Ianto laughed and rolled with them anyway, fending off their combined tickle attack, their four small hands much more effective than his two. But if their squeals and giggles were to go by, he was getting in a few solid tickles of his own.

Eventually, they tired out. Or rather, Uncle Ianto grew tired and Bryce and Gareth got bored with the tickling and opted to just sit on their conquest instead of attacking when Ianto failed to play along.

"Did you really fight a dragon?"

"Was it big?"

"Did it bite you?"

"Dragons don't bite, they blow fire out their noses."

"Nuh uh! Do not. They have fire in their stomachs. Don't they, Uncle Ianto?"

Ianto grinned at his nephews, looking up at them from his rather comfortable spot on the grass. How he wished he could be a kid again. "They were very big," he admitted carefully, not sure what Elaine had told the boys about the fight or what they might have seen on the news. "A lot of us fought the dragons, but they're all gone now."

His nephews' cheers made him grin all the more.

"Tell us about it!"

"Yeah, were you scared?"

"More scared than I've ever been." Ianto didn't have to lie or fib on that one as he slid the twins to his thighs so he could sit up. He wrapped them both in a big hug, feeling tiny hands grab his sides in return. "Was scared I'd never get to see you two again."

"We were scared too, but mommy was more scareder-"

"'Cause she was crying-"

"Uh huh, and so we told her that Uncle Ianto would protect us, just like you said."

Ianto felt his eyes well-up at their blind faith in him, so trusting that their uncle would watch out for them despite all his faults. Hell, they probably didn't even think he had faults. They were young yet, and far too new to the horrors of the world and how even those they put on pedestals would fall. Everything did, eventually. Ms. White and Avalon, Torchwood One and Yvonne. Even an alien attack was exciting. He wondered how long it would take for that illusion to fall and they discovered their uncle was just as human as they were and at some point, would fail them, too.

"I will always do what I can to protect my family."

"We know, Uncle Ianto. We told Kent," Ianto had to rack his brain to think of who that was, before he remembered Elaine mentioning something about the twins having a friend named Kent who'd stop by the store to play. His mother taught at a local school. According to Elaine, the mother was not looking forward to having the three troublemakers in school together. "We told him that our uncle fought the aliens-"

"And Kent wants you to be his uncle too cause he says the aliens might take him from his bed like they do on the telly so now he won't sleep."

"'Cause he doesn't have an uncle who fights aliens."

"Will you?"

"Will I what?" Ianto tried his best to follow Bryce's question, but he failed miserably, too keenly aware of the cold seeping in through his trousers from the ground and how even Torchwood Three's best dry cleaner probably wouldn't be able to get the stains out.

"Be Kent's uncle? He needs an uncle to protect him too."

"Tell you what." Ianto shifted a bit so that he could look at both Bryce and Gareth, who's concern for their friend was so plainly written on their faces. How odd was it to be having this conversation with his nephews, it certainly wasn't one he had dreamt of having in his lifetime and certainly not planned for. He'd planned for talks about the kids' father, about sex and wanking when the time came because imagining his mother talking to him about wanking nearly pushed Ianto over the edges of sanity every time he considered it, but never had he planned on how to address the twins' friends' real fear of aliens. "Why don't you tell Kent that all of Torchwood is working to protect his family, so he shouldn't be scared about being taken from his bed. Torchwood is watching out for every single one of your friends, too. But you two are under my special protection and always will be."

Amidst his nephews cheers, cheers that meant more than any from Avalon or complete strangers, Ianto hugged them just a little tighter.

"Uncle Ianto, you're squishing us."

With a snort of laughter, Ianto let them go, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet and dragged back into the house where Elaine took one look at the grass stains on his shirt and trousers and mouthed an apology. Ianto just shrugged with a smile.

Suits could be laundered, but he wouldn't pass up a moment with his nephews for anything.

***

 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

After grabbing a change of clothes (stolen from Stephen's closet since he'd already used the spare suit he kept at Avalon), Ianto made his way down to his (Mr. Black's) office. He turned on the telly and poured a glass of Scotch kept secure in a vault behind a psi-proof lock, along with various official papers and documents curious children and adults should be kept away from.

As he sat at the round table, the furniture looking rather lonely with its twelve open spots, feet kicked up on the top and the chair tilted back at what was certainly a dangerous degree and watched, the reporting was about the celebrations still continuing across the globe, from India to Britain to South Africa, everyone was still enthralled by the notion of a narrow escape from an alien threat and the celebration of freedom and life. It had surprised Ianto at first; but then, he was viewing the situation as someone who had grown up with aliens. The attack had been nothing new or different, only the magnitude had changed. For everyone else, however, it was as though a new lease on existence had been felt and cherished by all, and the stores selling food and alcohol were profiting.

The first world-wide party, broadcast simultaneously on all stations had taken place only two days after the fight. And now, over five weeks later, spontaneous parties were happening for little or no reason, just an excuse to be with friends and family, Ianto theorized. From the way it sounded, New Orleans in the United States hadn't shut down yet, day or night, the party still continued.

Ianto pitied their livers. Fuck, it wouldn't be the dragons that killed off the population on earth, it'd be the alcohol pickling their insides.

But, at least the in-fighting among humans had momentarily ceased. The few nations who had sought to profit from the ordeal were quickly stomped out in a surprising union of spirit. But warring factions all had the same surprises, the same shock and questioning of values. In some areas, they'd dropped the animosity and fought side by side against the dragons. Hard to resume fighting against a supposed enemy who had risked their life to protect yours. If anything had come from the casualties of this attack, at least there was a temporary peace. The cynic in him said it wouldn't last, that humans were, by nature, a people who would not be satisfied with what they possessed but must continuously look for more, be it land or converts or rights or goods. But at least, for the moment, there was a relative peace among the celebrants.

With a grim smile, he raised his glass in toast to the telly on the far wall and drank, joining in as well he could from inside the offices of Avalon.

"Mr. Black, I need your sig-"

Ianto turned slowly in surprise, surprise switching into amusement as he caught Owen openly staring. Ianto supposed it was either the black leather pants, which Stephen considered 'denim' and about the only thing he owned (and an article of clothing Ianto had grown rather fond of in their recent escapades) or the black tee he had snitched from Stephen's wardrobe as well (minus the gaping bullet wound the previous tee he'd borrowed, Ianto had made sure to stock Stephen's wardrobe with his favorite shirts for damaging the one). Or quite possibly, it was being mistaken for "Mr. Black" which had caused Owen to pause so dramatically in his statement. Any of the three possibilities made Ianto smirk, and he raised a brow as Owen continued to stare, the gaze only broken once when his eyes darted to the vault, to the scotch, and back to Ianto again.

"Stephen's not here," Ianto drawled, stating the obvious as he swirled his scotch and turned back to the telly to see what else had happened in the world aside from parties and purported alien sightings.

"Bullocks. Sorry. Don't think I've seen you dress like a normal person before."

Ianto didn't even turn to respond, just continued watching the images on the screen. A ferry had capsized near Bergen, Norway. All passengers had been saved by a passing vessel. "Brecon Beacons, the night we all about became the main course. I wore denims." Ianto nudged the bottle of Scotch over to Owen after pouring a refill, the other man would have to fend for himself to find a glass. "My other clothes got dirty and rather than walking around naked, I borrowed some of Stephen's."

"Right. Want my advice? Buy a pair of pants from Stephen." As Ianto turned to confirm that it was indeed Owen who had stated this, the doctor began to stumble over himself. "Cos Jack would appreciate the look. Then again, he appreciates anything with a hole or at least a crevice to rub off in. Not that he would, 'cos you and he, ah, fuck." Ianto settled for snorting in amusement as Owen cut himself off by drinking his Scotch.

Ianto would have to thank Stephen doubly for the clothing and the entertainment.

"So, I've been thinking," Owen started, to which Ianto turned his head, mostly in surprise at confirmation that Owen indeed thought. The look Owen threw him confirmed that Owen had caught on to what Ianto's train of thought had been. Owen glared (which, oddly enough, had no discernible impact Ianto noted)before continuing. "Out there during the fight, you were comfortable giving orders and could chat in whatever fucking language you were talking in on your mobile like it was your native tongue. My friends Amberlynn and Mitch were medics at Torchwood One and never mentioned you in their stories, so you weren't a field agent. Makes me think you were being primed to take over Yvonne's spot."

Owen smirked with pride at his deduction while he awaited Ianto's answer.

Ianto's following snort caused it to crash almost immediately. "Not bloody likely."

"She didn't like your coffee?"

"No," Ianto refrained from rolling his eyes, but only barely. He knew what he was about to say was considered classified, it was all locked away under encryption and various other security measures, but Owen would understand. He'd lost in the Battle of Canary Wharf, just as Ianto had. Besides, Ianto reminded himself, he set the rules anyway. "She didn't like me disagreeing about the purpose of the ghost shifts. Put me on limited desk duty before the attack."

Owen scowled, like Ianto's statement didn't compute with the information he had gathered. "What the bloody hell was she thinking?"

"Unlimited power. Energy for all of Britain." Ianto shrugged, staring at his drink before sipping from the glass.

"No, that's not ... never mind." Owen pushed the bottle of Scotch back over to Ianto who wondered briefly why Owen had come in search of _Mr. Black_ in the first place. Hopefully nothing to do with the children, not after sharing a drink or two with Ianto. "So what department were you in?"

Ianto debated for a moment between lying and telling the truth before he decided it just wasn't worth it to lie. "Intelligence."

Owen's reaction was similar to Jack when he had shared the information so long ago. surprise written across every feature as he coughed on his drink. Ianto really didn't know why it was so surprising; it wasn't like he tried to hide his knowledge of alien artifacts, research, or people.

Inside, there was a young boy who smiled with glee at the thought of one-upping Owen.

"So ah, not just a tea-boy then."

Ianto smirked. "Not exactly."

"Would explain why they never mentioned you; they always said you lot were a secretive bunch. And how you knew of that glue." Owen grimaced as sipped his drink, then waved the glass at Ianto after what must have been painful contemplation for Owen. "So, if you're all intelligent, why haven't you been in to see Jean-Luc yet? Avoiding my patient for some particular reason other than being a complete and utter twat?"

Or maybe not so painful. Owen occasionally did have a good grasp on Ianto and his habits. "I'm working up to it." Ianto raised his glass and drank the last of the scotch, feeling the warmth spread through him and give him courage he might not have had otherwise.

"You're a fucking idiot, ya know."

Yes, while, Ianto might be, but he wouldn't ever admit that to Owen.

"Your best friend, from what I hear, is lying up there in a coma and you haven't been to visit since we brought him in. I know you have a guilt complex longer than my prick, don't get me started on fighting the bloody dragon with a field knife to save Jack who is _immortal_ in case you forgot, but this is going on ridiculous. You're being a shite friend and you're making Tosh worry." The last was said with a cross of his arms, Ianto watched as Owen sat back in his chair, rather pleased with himself for his scolding.

And the sorry thing was, Ianto knew he was right.

Except for maybe the prick thing. Ianto was fairly certain his guilt complex was much longer than Owen's prick.

"For whatever reason, Jean-Luc sought your permission for Avalon to join the fight. And it was the right bloody choice because they won where we would have utterly failed. So quit being an arse and get up there to see him. Would do you good instead of mucking about in the guilt you've drowned yourself in."

For lack of anything to say to defend himself, Ianto gathered the bottle of scotch and put it back in the safe, making sure the vault was sealed shut so none of the children could get in.

"And don't ever wear those pants to work; Jack will never get anything done!" Owen shouted after him as Ianto left the room.

Ianto smirked, fairly certain that Jack wouldn't be the only one not getting anything done if he wore these pants to work. He'd felt Owen's eyes follow him all the way out.

***

 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

Ianto nervously knocked on the door before he entered; he chided himself after he did it since he wasn't really expecting an answer, but maybe the situation had changed since Owen had checked in last and his friend would be awake and calling him a prat (or worse) for avoiding him.

His heart sank when he looked in and heard nothing but the steady rhythm of the heart monitor mixing with the utter stillness that was Jean-Luc.

Closing the door behind him (which really was just another opportunity to avoid looking at the bed), Ianto steadied himself before turning to walk towards the bed, hesitation and guilt dragging every step until he was barely moving. He made it, eventually, tugged by an invisible hand until his thighs were stopped in their forward progress by the bed. It startled Ianto, consciously he knew he was walking forward but he'd so successfully pushed aside the knowledge that he was moving towards Jean-Luc's bed that once he was there, it was as though he were magically moved and his feet had no part in the process.

There'd be no avoiding now.

Ianto sat heavily into the chair by the bed; uncomfortable and hard on his back; he couldn't imagine Tosh sitting in it for any length of time. But he knew she had. He knew a good many had, spending time each day with the most gifted of them all; the one who had saved the world.

And Ianto had put him there.

Guiltily, Ianto's eyes finally focused on the figure laying on the bed, white sheets (the black satin sheets Jean-Luc was so fond of, hedonist that he was, had been removed the moment Owen had moved his patient to his room for privacy) pulled up to his chest, the pure white bedding just contributing to the pallor of his skin.

Even Jean-Luc's freckles were pale.

Ianto didn't move, not for a very long time. He just stared at Jean-Luc, motionless save for the steady rise of his chest as he breathed. Ianto got lost in the action, counting the number of times the sheet rose and fell, pitching his own breath in tempo with Jean-Luc's. It was almost too slow for Ianto, but it was relaxing, hypnotic.

Calming.

The thought made Ianto laugh, the noise sounding harsh in the room. Or perhaps it wasn't the sound, just the tension strung tight within Ianto (and the alcohol he'd drank before venturing to the room) that made it sound so foreign to his ears.

Leave it to Jean-Luc, the man could be in a coma and still work to calm Ianto.

Ianto reached out, then jerked his hand back, irrationally scared to touch Jean-Luc because what if his friend's skin was _cold_ , cold and fragile and still as death. He looked so pale, laying on the bed, Ianto hardly could believe life still flowed. But he knew it did, the Healers said Jean-Luc lived, as did Tosh and Owen. There was technically nothing wrong with Jean-Luc, not that the Healers could find and repair. One of them, Geppetto Russo (who the kids called Gipper for a reason Ianto couldn't quite understand), likened Jean-Luc to a spring which had sprung with such force and power, it'd stretched beyond its means. It might recoil and pull itself back together, or the spring may have been irreparably damaged, no one could tell.

And so Jean-Luc slept on, lost somewhere in that sprung mind.

And Ianto avoided.

After a second graceless jerk of his hand, Ianto steadied himself and touched Jean-Luc's hand, releasing a sigh of relief (not a sob) that the skin was still warm, the fingers movable if not limp, as Ianto curled his hand around Jean-Luc's.

There was still the chance. The Healers and Tosh and Owen hadn't given up hope yet for a full recovery. No one knew anything. No one had seen this in their lifetime, much less read about it in any text books.

But there was no guarantee he would ever wake up.

Ianto leaned forward on the chair, inching closer to the bed until he could rest his elbows on the mattress. He started once and had to clear his throat when his voice came out all cracked and unintelligible. Ianto's second try was much more successful, though the words sounded so much like they didn't belong. He didn't even know if there was any point to it, but once he started talking, he just couldn't stop.

"You'd love it, you know. You're a celebrity, the hero of the day. Fuck, people are _praying_ for you." Ianto laughed at the ridiculousness of it at the same time as he wanted to weep for the public's sincerity and outpouring of concern. For all the people across the globe knew nothing of Avalon, once they did (for those who had gotten over their initial fears), it was like they'd always known of Avalon, and Avalon's losses and grief were their own. They'd set up memorials to the gifted who had died and money poured in for education, both in the public and private sectors, everyone wanting to contribute and be a part of this 'new' brand of talent, for generosity now, for profit later, Ianto assumed. Another thing for Mr. Black to manage, to make sure the gifted were not abused.

And the cards and gifts to the one who had yet to wake from the alien attack. Ianto shook his head as he looked about the room, flowers and plants dotted every surface like people knew Jean-Luc. Maybe some of them did. Ianto still wasn't certain how much information had passed between the minds of all who had merged to fight the invasion, but there was definitely a bond that had developed between them. All of them; the globe over. The Vice President of the United States had even made a trip to Avalon, visiting the kids and spending some time, privately, with Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc would love it.

Except maybe for the praying bit.

"There are even people who are calling to write your bloody memoirs. Everyone wants to know Jean-Luc." This time, Ianto couldn't quite conceal the choked sob, reassured that no one was in the room to hear it anyway except for Jean-Luc who would mock him endlessly if he had heard it. Ianto almost wished he had. He'd accept the mocking gladly.

Instead, there was just the steady beeps of the heart monitor filling the silence between Ianto's hurried sniffs as he tried to get himself under control. Now was not the time to fall apart; he'd managed so far to maintain his usual calm (save for one or two more harried moments, the coffee machine in the Hub came to mind first) despite the overwhelming urge to scream with laughter at the heavens for yet another near miss in the intergalactic race to beat up earth and crawl into his bed and hide for days on end and allow himself to splinter and break as responsibility cracked every defense. But he didn't. He performed his duty, to Queen and country as well as Torchwood, Avalon, and the rest of the world who demanded answers and looked to the figures of Mr. Black (thank whatever deities kept Stephen in his place, it was almost as good as having two of himself with Stephen doing speaking engagements), Colonel Sheppard and Captain Harkness for strength and understanding.

But here, in the quiet of Jean-Luc's room, no one was listening, no one was looking for a reliable pillar of collect calm and it was just too _much_ as those requirements fell away, leaving him without the structured official Torchwood One decorum to rely upon in face of stress and others.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," Ianto whispered rather than spoke, clutching Jean-Luc's hand to steady his own. "I did this. Remember-remember when we were kids, it was winter and we were out running on the roof to get out of class and I slipped on an icy patch. Tumbled clear off the roof, but you stopped me. You stopped me from falling. Fuck, you were always watching out for me." Ianto didn't even bother pretending to be collect and reserved any longer, no one was around to see him give in, just this once. His shoulders shook as he cried, guilt for the relief that Jean-Luc had succeeded, that his family lived, that Torchwood lived, that the whole world lived because of Avalon and Jean-Luc. That guilt blended with other responsibilities, knowing it had been war against the dragons but feeling there had to have been an alternative other than Avalon. He'd made the decisions, he'd called the orders. "You were my responsibility to protect. And I don't care if you bloody chose to do it, I said yes."

And for Ianto, that was really the crux of the argument. For all Avalon had chosen their place in the fight against the dragons, Ianto had allowed them to do it. Jean-Luc wouldn't have done it if Ianto had said no; Ianto was certain of it. He could have stopped it. He could have stopped Jean-Luc.

But then, earth might have fallen.

The uncertainties and consequences were what fractured his control. He'd second guess his decisions until the end of his life, always wondering what could have happened if only he had acted differently. If he'd been wiser. If he'd had more experience.

If he was more like Ms. White.

Would she have made the same choice? Ianto rather thought not; she would have held the safety of the kids and Avalon above all else; especially the safety of Jean-Luc.

Then again, Jean-Luc almost died under her command as well.

Maybe Ianto was more like Ms. White than he had thought.

Black and White, the decision makers of the century. Ianto almost laughed.

"I'm making a right mess of things. Failed to keep Torchwood a secret. Failed to maintain Avalon's secrecy and failed to protect you. What the fuck have I accomplished other than nearly destroying Britain under my watch?" Ianto gave a hearty sniff and dried his eyes on the bedding when he didn't find a tissue box about and the black tee wasn't exactly made for stretching to his face. "Fuck, I know. You'd tell me I'm being a complete wanker and rig my showers to only spray cold water till I agreed. We're not kids any more though. And I don't honestly think I was meant for this."

Ianto rested his head on Jean-Luc's hand until a tapping on his shoulder startled him. He'd lost track of the time, a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand read it was late afternoon, well past when he'd intended to return to the Hub. The tapping resumed, and Ianto saw it was the corner of a box of tissues digging into his shoulder.

"Out. I need to check on my patient, and you need to eat something before you go back. I already called Gwen and told her where you were so she wouldn't worry."

Ianto wiped his eyes with a handful of tissues and blew his nose, collecting himself before he allowed his mind to filter through the information presented to him. The speaker's voice was Owen. Nope, his mind pretty much stopped there with the information processing.

"There's fresh coffee in the kitchens and soup for the evening meal. I've given Jess strict orders not to give you any coffee until you finish off a bowl of soup and slice of bread. Coffee and scotch are not food groups, Tea-boy, and one patient is enough for me. I'm shite with patients."

Owen was giving him orders. Ianto felt his ears flame red with embarrassment at having been caught out in such a state, especially by Owen, but the man wasn't commenting, just held a rubbish bin up for him to toss his used tissues in, then handed him the remaining box as Ianto was guided towards the door.

Owen?

"Straight to the kitchens. Don't try to sneak out, Jerry is on security duty and knows not to let you leave unless it's been cleared by Jess. Doctor's orders. I'll keep you informed of any changes with Jean-Luc. Now out."

With that, Ianto found himself outside of Jean-Luc's room, struck speechless by a smirking Owen who seemed to enjoy pushing Ianto around a little too much. Probably thinking of it as revenge for the glue incident. Or shooting him in the shoulder. Or the time Ianto switched to decaf, just for amusement's sake.

"Oh, and Ianto?"

Ianto didn't say anything, just waited for whatever else Owen had to say. Maybe by that time, he'd have found his voice and have a witty rejoinder to follow.

"You're being a complete wanker."

The door clicked shut in his face before Ianto could remember to breath, much less respond.

***

 _The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready._

The wind whipped about Ianto, the cold currents of air threatening to push and pull him right from his perch on top of the Millennium Center. He had quickly caught up on things at the Hub; Jack had begged for a cup of coffee, insisting he'd had nothing but instant all day, and Ianto had frozen still upon walking into the kitchenette, a new coffee machine standing in proud, shining splendor where the other one had once stood. Ianto wasn't sure who had gone out and bought it, none of Torchwood Three were fessing up to it, but it brought a smile to his face all the same.

As did the crudely drawn picture of a faery with a big red 'x' drawn over it pinned above the machine.

Ianto was fairly certain that was Gwen's doing.

New mugs gleamed in the cabinets, and not a single red rose petal could be found. Not that Ianto had looked too hard. But he did notice that someone had been efficient in their removal.

It didn't even smell like roses.

He'd left after finishing some paperwork for Jack, plenty of time to catch his twice-daily perch atop a building in honor of the original Jack. Ianto had maintained that tradition, all this time, save for a few occasions when doom and dragons had threatened.

But this time as he stared over Cardiff, drinking in the sights of the city at night, Ianto permitted himself to grin in wonder.

Cardiff still stood.

Even in the patches of city where he knew the dragons had attacked and destroyed huge portions of land, buildings and people (although thankfully the loss of life had been far less than Ianto had initially calculated), lights still shown in the darkness, signs of rebuilding, signs of life.

At least in this part of his job, Ianto knew he had succeeded. Cardiff still stood. As did Britain. Forgetting, momentarily, the costs, Torchwood had emerged victorious against the alien threat.

That was something.

Even Torchwood Three itself remained standing, the Information Center quickly rebuilt (the lift had gone in first; the initial few days of Gwen bitching about the rope ladder and her boots were enough to change priorities) and a new shipment of brochures ordered to replace what had been lost. It had become quite the attraction these days, the old Information Center. Word had spread that Torchwood members were often spotted coming in and out of the building before it had been destroyed (and that take-away had been delivered to the location) and visitors now flocked to see the building, and to maybe catch a glimpse of the defenders of Britain against alien threat.

Surreal was the only word Ianto could use to describe the first time he'd been asked to pose for a picture.

Ianto pulled the coat tighter around his body, also 'borrowed' from Stephen. He was in London doing more interviews as Mr. Black, and Ianto knew he'd have time to return the coat and pants to Stephen's wardrobe before he returned to Avalon the next day. It was long, reminding Ianto of Jack's greatcoat, and on impulse he had taken it to remind himself of things that once were. Ianto had spent a few evenings and mornings with Jack on the rooftops, wrapped in the warmth of the greatcoat to fight off the chill in the air. He wondered if it'd be poor form to buy a similar one for this Jack, just so he could have some of those moments back.

He didn't hear any footsteps announcing a presence, but Ianto felt hands wrap around his waist, burying themselves in the warm folds of the leather coat. Ianto supposed he should been startled, or at least affronted at the audacity of whomever was behind him, but he knew the sound of the one breathing at the nape of his neck, lips lightly kissing the skin behind his ear before a cold nose was buried in his hair.

Ianto laughed softly and leaned back into Jack, shivering as his cold hands crept under Ianto's tee and pressed against his skin.

"It's freezing. What are you doing up here?"

Looking out over the city, lights twinkling amidst the shadows of people walking along the pavements, Ianto could almost feel the life in the city, the pulse beating strong as ever. There had been no defeat in Cardiff. And the denizens of the city; they knew and they understood. Yet they weren't frightened or cowering in their homes, they were still out there living their lives as they had before they knew of such things as aliens and the gifted.

She really was an amazing city.

"Reminding myself that there's an entire population with a hint of the threats Earth faces, concepts of space-time, alien races, and foreign tech just creeping into the notions of 'real' within their minds. I came up here to remind myself that its my duty to make sure they're safe."

Jack pressed himself completely against Ianto until Ianto was sure there wasn't an atom's-width of space between them. "And is it working?" Jack returned, quoting himself from both then and now, joining Ianto in the gaze out at the city and her lights.

"Yes," Ianto started with a smiled, leaning back against Jack, confident as he surveyed the city. "Yes it is."


	8. Blue-Tinged Skipping Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a heavy chapter. Grab a glass of wine and enjoy. :)

Ianto awoke to the sound of alarms above, an insistent blare he couldn't have slept through even if he'd tried.

Fucking alarms.

Jack shifted beside him with a groan, checking his watch before laying back down. "Way too early for rift activity."

"No rest for the wicked. Stay here, I'll check it out." Before he moved from the bed, though, Ianto spread out fully over Jack, skin on skin in the most deliciously complete sense of _right_. Even with the Hub alarms bleating a cacophony of unnatural cries, like the Hub herself was jealous and shouting for Jack's attention, Ianto lingered just a moment longer wrapped in Jack's heat and the soft dance of lips.

"Ignore it, maybe it'll go away."

Ianto laughed as Jack made a (not so subtle) attempt to convince him to stay in bed, pulling Ianto's hips down to rub flush with his, a terribly dirty ploy. "Torchwood protocol. The alarm will stay on until we turn it off, even if the cause leaves."

"Fuck protocol." Jack's kiss deepened and Ianto almost fell for it, almost successfully turned off all external noise and distraction til nothing remained but Jack's fingers, digging into Ianto's back, clutching and drawing him closer until he was almost melded to Jack's body.

That was until he realized the slow thrusts of Jack's hips matched the tempo of the Hub's alarm. "That's bloody sick, Jack." Amidst Jack's chuckles and a final, lingering kiss, Ianto peeled himself off Jack and off the narrow bed. It took him a moment to locate his pants, well, Stephen's pants, but as that clothing was the only set available, he slipped the supple leather back on, knowing full-well that Jack's eyes were fixated on every movement.

"I need to ask Stephen where he bought those and buy you a lifetime supply."

Ianto smirked as he gave up on his shoes, but found the t-shirt he'd worn earlier. Due to the cold, Jack had dragged Ianto off the rooftop of the Millennium Centre after he'd believed Ianto had spent enough time on that frozen perch. And quickly divested him of all his clothing. Except for the pants. The pants had remained on for probably far longer than necessary but eventually, they too were discarded in a heap on the floor. "Owen said the same thing."

Even from this distance, Ianto could almost hear the thoughts colliding together of a threesome with Owen and Ianto, clicked into place and locked as a permanent vault of fantasy. "Does your libido have an off button?" Ianto asked helpfully, pulling the t-shirt over his head.

"So you two are talking again?"

His actions slowed before pulling the t-shirt down over his face. Were he and Owen speaking? Ianto supposed, their conversation yesterday had been civil, almost friendly. And he still couldn't explain Owen in Jean-Luc's room. "I went and saw Jean-Luc yesterday, ran into Owen there." Ianto turned away from Jack, looking for his socks. Or shoes, which he decided upon further consideration would be necessary given the floor was so fucking cold. That and it gave him a distraction from having to face Jack as well.

"You okay?"

"Fine." Ianto gave Jack a quick smile, finding his socks and slipping them on. He knew Jack wasn't asking in regard to Owen, but it was still too soon to talk about the other. "I'll just get that alarm, find out what's washed up in Cardiff again." He gave Jack a fast, hard kiss and shoved his feet into his shoes, not bothering with the laces even though that was just begging for an injury.

"Finish quickly, and you can finish me."

With a snort, Ianto threw Jack's shirt from the floor in the general direction of his head. "Incorrigible."

***

Finishing never came, or maybe it did but Ianto had no part in it. The alarms were off and Ianto hadn't moved, not even as Jack joined him or the others trickled in. He just stared at the monitors, computer code flashing too quickly for the human eye to read, but Ianto knew it was running calculation upon calculation. Tosh arrived first, silently joining Jack who had dressed at Ianto's request and was standing with arms crossed, just behind Ianto as they stared at the computers. Gwen and Rhys followed soon after, arms linked as they joined the crew at Tosh's desk.

Owen arrived last, but then, no one had expected anything less. "Oi, just so you know, I was with twins, twins! And you bloody phone when- oh fucking hell tell me that's not what I think it is."

Ianto eyed the monitor outputting crunched data, combined and recompiled and compared to known quantities within the Torchwood database. It was times like these he wished they had the system at Torchwood One.

But all the same, the visual was undeniable.

"It's a ship." Tosh stated for those in the Hub who couldn't identify what the shape on the screen indicated. Which, was no one. But Ianto was glad she had said something. The silence was unnerving.

"Well, what does that mean?" Gwen asked, arm linked in Rhys'. "It could be just another visitor. We get lots of visitors."

"It's bigger than our moon." Tosh was clearly awed, and Ianto couldn't blame her. The sheer scope of such a machine, of the technology and least of all how to successfully navigate space in a craft that large ... it was well beyond the comprehension of 21st century science, enhanced by alien technology or no. It didn't fit with current understanding of physics, not unless fundamental Einstein was no longer viable.

"Still, they could be friendly, yeah?"

As much as Ianto hated to disappoint Gwen and her eternal optimism, the information the computers were spitting out was not promising. Ianto gestured at the screen of data, not that it read anything to anyone else save maybe Tosh and Jack, but the data stream was impressive all the same. "I took the liberty to borrow a few satellites," Ianto started, reassuring himself that it was only borrowing as he fully intended to release control back to the original owners once he was done with them; Britain's just hadn't been in position. "The data's looking remarkably familiar. I won't know for certain until the object is closer-"

"How far are they out?" Jack interrupted him, resting a comforting hand on Ianto's shoulder. His thumb dug small circles into the tension knotting Ianto's shoulders and he closed his eyes, just for a moment, to enjoy the calming sensation.

"Approaching from outside our solar system. Well out of range of any earth-based missile, estimating relative speed and angle, maybe ... twelve hours?" Tosh removed her glasses, setting them on the desk beside Ianto's hands, but he wasn't paying much attention, just scanning the numbers as they flew past, cataloging the action going around him as 'reactionary' and 'standard Torchwood procedure' to be examined later.

Ianto had to hand it to the team, they weren't panicking.

"Wait a tic, what do you mean 'borrowed'?" Ianto spun on the chair in surprise towards Owen, who gestured at him and then the numbers on the monitor, "and familiar? What are we dealing with here, Mr. Intelligence? And none of that bumbling techno-rubbish. What the fuck is so familiar?"

Not panicking ... yet. The others turned to stare at Ianto as well, but he knew what Owen was asking. He understood why Owen had lost the 'tea-boy'.  He wanted to know if this was a breed of alien in the Dalek or Cybermen sense or if it was someone Torchwood Three knew. 

Ianto wished he had an answer that would satisfy. "Initial readings indicate energy signatures similar to the data Sheppard's team collected almost six weeks ago. And yes, Owen, borrowed. I hijacked the satellites for our use, but I'll return them to American and Japanese control once I'm finished."

"So. What you're saying is ... the dragons are back." Gwen's voice wavered, and Ianto could swear the pallor of each face in the Hub grew deathly pale in that instant. Gwen spoke the obvious, but someone had to say it. Someone had to voice the fear.

Strangely enough, there were no panicked cries, no shouts of anger, just five resolute and determined, if not pale, faces.

Torchwood had grown up, it seemed.

"But ... why? We defeated them." Tosh looked from Jack to Owen and around the room, searching for the answer.

"Ianto?" Owen snapped, though Ianto knew the tone wasn't directed at him. Nerves were fraying as time ticked past, second by second, ratcheting the desperate cling to rationality up to the nth degree. All it would take to shove that over the delicate balance was a slight push to tumble head-first into terror and discord. It wouldn't take much; Torchwood London had snapped under less. "Why this ship? What are they planning?"

To say Ianto was uncomfortable with Owen's new-found change of attitude regarding him would be to put it mildly; the direct lines of questioning were not completely unmerited given Owen's knowledge of what he had done in the past, but all the same, these were the questions Jack should have been fielding. Given Owen's last statement at Avalon, Ianto began to wonder what Owen really did know.

Ianto turned to the monitors again, watching more of the data scroll by, then to the other screen where the size of the ship registered as a massive empty space. Hundreds of reasons why clamored for victory in his shortlist of answers, but one remained at the top no matter what variables he added or deleted.  
   
It's what he would have done, if he were intent on galactic conquest. Sometimes, that idea didn't seem like such a bad idea. Maybe then they'd stop coming to earth if earth spread an empire into the universe.

"I imagine the previous ships were meant to tenderize the meat." Ianto caught Tosh visibly flinching out of the corner of his eye; she remembered that night as well. "Destroy any resistance, or quite possibly the entire population, though given what we know of their treatment of Torchwood Four thanks to Owen, we would probably be both food source and slaves. Those were warrior aliens, the battle fighters. This ship probably contains colonists prepared to establish contact with the breeders who were here before, beginning the next generation of their race with the young born on earth."

"Well then, we'll just fight them like we did before." Rhys sounded amazingly confident, but Ianto suspected either blind optimism or faith in a system he didn't quite yet understand. Unfortunately, there was an entire population on earth who would probably react the same way and Ianto hadn't the foggiest notion how to respond when the world looked to Torchwood and the other groups for salvation. "Can't we?"

Jack finally spoke up; Ianto spun his chair around to listen with the rest of the circled team despite knowing the statistics Jack was about to regale. "We've got a limited quantity of the enzyme. Production started on a more global scale following the attack, but just as a safeguard measure in case there were a few scattered about that were missed. There was no reason to believe another attack coming."

Ianto should have guessed it. Should have asked why the warriors had been sent. But he'd been so focused, so obsessed with the revelation of Torchwood and Avalon to the world that he'd neglected to question why.

Fuck.

"And Jean-Luc still hasn't woken," Tosh added quietly, pointing out what Ianto's mind had just been dancing around. Jack pulled Tosh into a one-armed hug, and Ianto had to smile at that. Such a Jack gesture, a pale echo of the old.

But she raised a perfectly valid point, reminding Ianto that Stephen was in London. He located his mobile, buried in some print-readouts, and dialed Stephen's number. Stephen's ''lo?' was groggy with sleep and Ianto hoped the man was awake enough to understand the severity of the situation. "We need you in Cardiff. Now." Something of Ianto's voice must have bled through, because Stephen's reply was far more alert, but the face of Mr. Black would be to Cardiff long before the latest threat arrived.

Ianto had no more than put down his mobile when it rang; a quick check of the number revealed it to be Sheppard, someone Ianto probably should have contacted by now but had delayed. "Sheppard. Caught the latest I presume?"

"We'd have more information if you hadn't yanked control of our satellites. At least I'm assuming it was you, Wilson here insists that for some reason Torchwood does that a lot, even if he can't remember why."

Sheppard's voice took the tone it always did when Wilson was brought up in conversation. That international fuck-up had been before Sheppard's control of the program, but he still (rightly) blamed Torchwood for the gap in the man's memory. But it was interesting, the idea that there might have been some residual memory left intact despite what Jack had done. "The dragons are back," Ianto said instead of addressing any of Sheppard's other comments, filing away the Wilson information to address at a later time when world threat wasn't upon them.

Ianto held the phone away from his ear as Sheppard's violent cursing filled the Hub, bringing a much needed amusement to help disperse the tension. Finally, Sheppard calmed enough that Ianto no longer feared for his hearing and moved the mobile closer to his ear in time to hear Sheppard growl, "Give me our satellites back before I sic McKay on you."

Smirking, Ianto considered that as much as a challenge to duel as any action. "I welcome him to try. The first sweep of data has almost finished compiling, I'll send you the information once it's in. And I'll turn over your satellites then, but I imagine at that point, we'll know what we need to know."

He could hear Sheppard sigh over the line. "Jean-Luc still isn't awake yet, is he?"

"No."

"Fuck. And we never did figure out their shields, for all we did try to reverse-engineer based on the limited intel we could get from Avalon. Alright, send us the data when you get it, I'll put my team back on the shields."

"We've got twelve hours." Ianto snapped the mobile shut, tapping it on his chin a moment, thinking. Avalon merging again without Jean-Luc was improbable, no one had the strength or skill to manage such a force. Not that they wouldn't ask to try, and Ianto knew they would.

"Maybe they'll just ... pass on by."

All focus in the Hub turned to Gwen; even Rhys seemed a bit dubious of his partner's hope.

"Maybe they will," Jack said after silence had stretched an uncomfortably long time. "But I think we should come up with a Plan B in case they don't."

"It's really the bloody dragons?"

Ianto nodded at Owen, who still looked as shell-shocked as the rest. "Without question."

"Well, shite."

***

Hours passed in a blur of frantic activity about the Hub, the communication lines abuzz between UNIT and Sheppard's crew, trying to organize an effective plan to combat any threat that might emerge. And the ship just kept inching closer, thousands of miles but shrunk to a more comprehensible inch on the computer tracking system.

Essentially, they had limited options. They knew of the shields encountered before, they knew of the limitations of ground weapons, and Sheppard wasn't entirely confident in any weapon he had on board their battle cruisers to engage the ship in space without first taking down the shield.  The weapons in London were good, but overuse during the fight against the dragons the first time had fried some circuitry.  Torchwood London was working on it, even if it didn't have the capacity to shear through the shields of the ship; it could still be used in a ground attack. 

Avalon was out of the question; Stephen had arrived a few hours after Ianto had called and agreed with Ianto's assessment -- to ask Avalon to merge without the assistance of Jean-Luc would have far too many consequences and little if any success. They simply just didn't have the strength or control without Jean-Luc.

No one was panicking, at least not outwardly.

But it was a growing oppression in the Hub, a strangling feeling as their options were discussed and thrown out, the view of the future so bleak it seemed to drag every breath of hope from them all and stomp it into oblivion.

It didn't help that the Weevils, numbering a dozen, began howling in their cells, reaching Torchwood Three's ears despite the layers of stone.

The atmosphere was shattered nine hours after the initial alarms when the monitors, both telly and computer, wavered, then turned to blue. Everyone slowed and stopped, turning to stare in confusion, looking at each other like someone had just pulled a plug on their equipment.

"Tosh?" Jack asked, shaking the cords of the monitor nearest him before turning to the device at his wrist for answers.

"I don't know. This doesn't make any sense."

Ianto scowled when he achieved no more success than Jack.  His mind was already cycling explanations when the screens flickered back to life, but not with just any picture.

"Mr. Black." Michael Hallings' voice echoed from every sound outlet. Next to him was a fierce looking Weevil, baring its teeth in a snarl. Ianto wondered what its name had been. "We invite you to conversation at Roald Dahl Plas, two o'clock sharp. Don't be late, my friends do not like to be kept waiting."  
   
The monitors turned a disconcerting shade of blue again before flickering to the programs previous running, be it software or the news.

Ianto wasn't the only one who cursed.

"But, what does that mean? Who was that?" Gwen asked, stunned by what they had just seen. She wasn't the only one; everyone seemed as shocked, if not momentarily speechless.

"That was Michael Hallings, leader of Torchwood Four," Ianto elaborated, checking his watch for the time and catching Stephen's eye. They had half an hour to figure something out. Anything.

He didn't even know who they would be meeting, but Ianto was fairly certain they'd be seeing dragons again.

***

"You should have let me come alone." Ianto muttered to Stephen as they walked. It wasn't just them striding across the Plas, all of Torchwood was walking with them. UNIT had set up along one side, and reporters and spectators lined the other. Disturbing. Civilians shouldn't be allowed to view whatever might happen. "This is a trap."

"Which is why I am acting as Mr. Black," Stephen smiled grimly. "You shouldn't be here. None of you should." Stephen paused a moment. "And why the hell are you wearing my clothes?"

Ianto smiled absently as he surveyed the Plas. He didn't see any sign of the Torchwood Four members or Weevils, and he most certainly didn't see any sign of a dragon. It didn't escape his notice that if the Plas was a target, they were hopelessly exposed. "I wear them better, old man."

"Youth." Stephen grinned, though his eye too was on his surroundings. "Can we get UNIT to move the civilians?"

Ianto tapped his earpiece and chatted briefly with the UNIT commanding officer, shaking his head as it ended just as quickly. "Apparently not without threat to their ranks. They brought nothing for crowd control. And as he puts it, 'no bloody way I'm fighting with rabid idiots who choose the front page for their obituary.'" Ianto shrugged, ignoring the video cameras filming their walk across the Plas. "I suppose the world wants to see contact."

"They're fools."

Ianto couldn't disagree, but he also understood the lure. The message from Michael had been broadcast internationally, by some feat of technology Ianto didn't understand. The world knew. And the world wanted to hear. And, he suspected, there was always the concern that maybe Tiffany had been right at that news conference, and maybe the dragons had come to save the world.

Torchwood Three stood united in the middle of the Plas, watching for any sign of Torchwood Four. They hadn't used the invisible lift, that would have been foolish given the attraction they'd drawn in the past weeks. So from the Information Center they'd walked, favoring the side of the Plas more heavily armed with UNIT operatives. Ianto wasn't going to deny heavily armed guard with weapons loaded with enzyme.

Just a precaution. But this reeked of a trap.

"Ianto..." Jack's voice pulled Ianto's attention from the Plas to the gap widening in the civilian group, at the furthest point from Torchwood Three. It set Ianto on edge, watching Torchwood Four, both human and Weevil, and their recruits emerge from that line of defenseless citizens. Michael Hallings led the way, striding with Torchwood-bred arrogance; behind him, Ianto could recognize faces here and there from the original Torchwood Four, but there were an alarming number of faces he didn't recognize.

He'd never have guessed their numbers had grown so large.

Ianto knew they had recruited, from Tiffany to the woman who was after Rani. But the number was surprising, nearly four hundred in the front building on the Plas. And judging by the faces that were missing and the number of Weevils, Ianto assumed that many former employees of Torchwood had been somehow changed, as had some of the recruits.

More alarming, it appeared every human was armed.

The legion of Torchwood Four stopped in front of Torchwood Three, silent and waiting. Michael gestured to his left and his group shifted, making room for something ... incredibly large.

Fuck, they really were bringing in a dragon.

A slim disc skittled across the pavement, thrown by one of Michael's lackeys, but before Ianto could move or protest the action, the air just seemed to ... burst ... above the disc, a prismatic rainbow of glowing cloud coalescing into a very live, very real dragon.

"Shite."

Ianto was fairly certain that had been Owen who had squeaked as he heard UNIT snap to attention, training their weapons at the dragon.

The alien was smaller than the warrior dragons they'd previously fought. No, Ianto amended, taking in the full scale of the alien, it was slimmer. More streamlined. Less built for battle and more, well, Ianto wasn't really sure. Conversing, apparently, given the invitation Michael had extended. Its colors were far more drab than the violent colors of the warriors or the pale breeders. It was ... puce. A mottled, purple-brown darkening to a deep cocoa on its throat and underbelly. At its crown, instead of the bony knob on the warriors, hide extended like wings around its monstrous face, an odd bat-wing'd lion's mane. Not very aerodynamic, Ianto reasoned, but perhaps they folded down in flight. Or perhaps this one didn't fly at all, like a penguin or an ostrich. It did have wings, the puce stretched thin over the same skeletal structure as the warriors, but looked far more fragile in their dead-lavender shade.

Almost as though it read Ianto's thoughts, the wings unfurled, maintaining a close lie with its body but ruffling them, as if to get accustomed to the atmosphere. The dragon shifted on its clawed feet (four toes, Ianto catalogued, and if he remembered his Chinese lore well enough, that meant it wasn't an Imperial and lesser in the hierarchy of dragons, though lore meant nothing in face of real invasion by alien forces), perhaps not used to the sensation of Earth's gravity given how long it may have travelled in space.

Ianto noted that perhaps his duties as tea-boy and Information Center clerk had quite possibly irreparably damaged his psyche as he caught himself taking into consideration the alien's comfort following their attempt to savage Earth's people.

"A blow job says this is a trap." Jack whispered loud enough to be heard clearly by Ianto's ears, and Ianto was inclined to agree so that wouldn't be the best bet to accept, not because blow jobs involving Jack were bad; Ianto simply  hated to lose.

Before he could answer, however, Rhys spoke up. "I'd accept your wager, however the missus says she owns this cock and the odds are heavily in your favor. Don't suppose you'd settle for a pint instead?"

Tosh's giggle and Gwen's indignant protest for Rhys' cheek and subsequent elbow to the ribs did much to calm Ianto's nerves, if only to make him cringe at the maturity being demonstrated by Britain's finest. It hadn't taken long for Rhys to become corrupted by Torchwood Three's response in face of danger. However, the alternative was panic, and Ianto knew they could not afford the loss of any one person due to fear.

Fear was not an option now, not on the Plas facing a dragon and its armed followers.

"Please tell me my backup is outfitted with something more dangerous than lube and condoms." Stephen winked as he spoke to Ianto, leeching any heat from his words.

Ianto smiled, eyes still mostly trained on the threat in front of them, a motionless array of human and alien. Torchwood Three had yet to move either, remaining in their straight line bisecting the Plas at its middle . Someone in the surrounding civilian crowd coughed, causing the dragon's massive head to tilt slightly in their direction.  The shrill, but muffled, cries of the men and women who'd chosen to risk their lives for a news story bounced off the light poles and was echoed by those who didn't understand why they were shrieking but felt the need to join in and claim an experience.

He would have laughed, except he found it not very funny at all.

"Well, I suppose I ought to make friendly with the scary alien -- can't say I thought this would ever happen when I started working for Ms. White." Stephen rested a hand on Ianto's shoulder, squeezing it and speaking low and just loud enough that Ianto was certain only he could hear.  "My choice, Ianto."

Scarcely able to draw breath, much less offer anything in return, Ianto nodded and watched as Stephen stepped forward, just one step away from the Torchwood line. Doubt ate at his nerves as an uncomfortable flutter that built upon itself in his stomach and threatened the rhythm of his heart, beating a relentless cry in his ears. Something touched the hand he had resting at his gunbelt, none of them had their weapons drawn, a signal for open communication, Gwen had said. Owen had ridiculed the logic, but in the end, they'd agreed to keep their guns at the ready. The touch came again, and for a moment Ianto stole his eyes away from Stephen to glance down.

"Breathe, Ianto," Jack murmured, his hand slipping along the inside of Ianto's arm under the jacket to circle his wrist, then to clutch his fingers, briefly, so fleeting a movement that Ianto almost believed he'd imagined it. The action did its trick, however, startling Ianto and drawing him from the internal battle in which he'd lost himself.

"Greetings. I am Mr. Black, here by your invitation for conversation." Stephen's voice boomed confident across the Plas, flashbulbs lighting for the first photo of Mr. Black addressing the alien, word by word it seemed from the sheer number.

Ianto thought it rather ridiculous.

The dragon's head swung down from its towering heights to rest near the ground. Ianto was relieved that it hadn't taken aim to fire a stream of burning air in their direction; Torchwood Three would have been wiped out in a breath. Instead, one of its eyes (golden in color, slitted like a cat's eye) peered at Stephen who looked so small in comparison, blinking once (four lids, Ianto noted). The Weevils began wailing in unison on an odd pitch, one Ianto had yet to hear from any of their captured Weevils. If that wasn't enough to stand the hair at the back of his neck, the whimpered cries rolling down the Torchwood line (first Tosh, then Gwen, next Rhys, god, what was happening?) drew the gun from his belt without second thought.

He moved to pull Stephen back from his position ahead of the line when the cracking blast of gunfire splintered the quiet. Ianto was forced backwards as Stephen collided with him, tumbling them both to the ground.

"We speak only with Mr. Black." Ianto was dimly aware of what Michael shouted, at least he believed it was Michael, the voice had an odd sound to it, multiple layers, tones upon tones but he wasn't thinking about the voice and how odd it sounded, he couldn't think about it. _No._ Ianto frantically pushed at Stephen who lay partially on top of him, the rational part of Ianto's mind pointing out leverage points on a human body, depending on weight, but fuck, Stephen wasn't helping by moving.

He just ... lay still.

Ianto's hands shook as he finally managed to free himself and kneel beside his mentor, gently rolling the shoulders until Stephen settled on his back, eyes staring blindly at the skies while a third cried red tears from his forehead.

"No." Ianto denied and reached for a pulse at Stephen's throat, trembling so hard he could almost pretend the heart still beat.

"You're right, my apologies. I'm Mr. Black."

Jack's voice registered but it didn't. Sound struck Ianto, but rather than bounce it was absorbed, bleeding into consciousness just as quickly as the puddle grew beneath Stephen. Ianto didn't dare breathe. If he moved the tableau would be broken and he couldn't cling to the hope that time had stopped and this wasn't real. But his lips moved in truth, he could feel them curling about the syllables even if there was no voice to plead. _"I'm sorry forgive me I'm sorry forgive me I'm sorry ..."_

"What the hell are you on about? He's not Mr. Black, I am."

Ianto felt a shadow fall over him as Owen spoke, he knew it was Owen speaking but all that he heard were the cries before the blast, cries down the line and then the gunshot and falling. Falling and Stephen tumbling after and fuck, no. This wasn't ... Numb, Ianto stretched his hand, touching Stephen's cheek (god, still warm) and slowly, with every dignity and respect due the man, gently closed his eyes.

"Men. Never think a woman can do it. It's me, I'm Ms. Black."

The fierceness of Tosh's voice reminded Ianto of their trip to Torchwood Four; they'd won that day, Stephen and Jean-Luc surrounded by throngs of children and adults all ecstatic to be found and to be going home.

Fuck. How was he ... shite. The kids looked up to Stephen so much, looking to him nearly as much as Jean-Luc. He was Avalon's leader. They couldn't ... how was he ...

"No, they're all lying. I'm Ms. Black."

At the sound of Gwen's voice, Ianto remembered to breathe.

"They're all bloody barmy. Don't believe the lot of 'em. I'm Mr. Black."

Ianto looked up, startled to see the backs of Owen and Jack covering his position, Torchwood Three standing together a solid line as Rhys spoke. Jesus. Their words flashed through his mind, in order, in repeat and in unison, all their voices, all making claims, all drawing attention-

No.

Absolutely not.

The charade ended now.

Finding the gun beside him on the ground, Ianto squared his jaw and took Stephen's as well, not even drawn from his belt. Anger crept slowly from a corner of his mind, dark and heavy, spilling forth like a tidal wave until it poured out his toes. Stephen hadn't even been given a chance. Too many had died. Far too many. Ianto could see every face, he knew every name beginning with Stephen and ending with Ms. White and the guards. All because of the aliens. Aliens which were his responsibility. His duty.

His oath and pledge to Queen and country, to his family and the rest of humankind.

Ianto stood, resolutely looking at Stephen once more before cocking Stephen's gun and slipping the safety off.

No more deaths.

He was Mr. Black.

"Stop." Ianto said, walking around Owen to stand in front of Torchwood Three, surprised to hear UNIT squawking in his ear, something about withholding fire for fear of the civilians. Starting a battle on the Plas would endanger too many with the enemy so armed and the vultures refused to leave. He ignored the voice, throwing his earpiece aside because it was too distracting.

And right now, he wished no distraction. Speaking clearly, Ianto addressed the dragon eye, ignoring Michael and the rest of Torchwood Four and the Weevils. "I am Mr. Black."

Ianto was aware of the team shouting behind him, he could hear Jack's voice and Owen's protesting his actions, but it was Gwen's voice that cut through above them all.

"Ianto, they saw our conversation! They know about your family!"

His eyes widened in surprise; of course, that would explain the cries before the gunfire, the dragon, scanning their minds down the line, stopped when it had what it needed.

What it wanted.

Ianto had just a moment before his mind was slammed by the same oily touch he'd felt before, back in the basement of Torchwood Four. Only that had been an infant, a fledgling. This was a jab of pure malevolence, crushing through to his public mind and spreading like tar about its surface, coating each thought, each awareness caught free-floating in thick sludge until it too was entangled and trapped in the mass stabbing at his mental walls, searching for holes and pockets where confidence or strength fell.

Fuckers. They had never played with Jean-Luc.

Ianto built and rebuilt old walls and new, faster than he had before in all the time practicing with Jean-Luc, building upon his natural mental barriers and the ones trained by Avalon and Jean-Luc.

He knew too much, he had too much to protect.

Like shutters flipping shut, vault doors closing, and pavement over earth, Ianto stared at the eye of the dragon as it stared back. The black depths of the snake eye widened as its determination increased and the oozing, inky darkness slashed at Ianto's defenses, trying to weaken them, to find a way in. Ianto fell back on more training, the hardest days when he'd been left on his knees and sweating before Jean-Luc, the bastard smiling because Ianto had kept him out but it'd taken everything Ianto had to keep it that way.

But he was older than that time, older by years.

And wiser, with more to protect.

It was not getting in.

Very slowly, Ianto regained ground within his mind, forcing the darkness into a sphere he could picture so clearly, spinning with such ferocity Ianto knew if he wavered for a moment, it would rocket forth and crumble every wall he had built.

That wasn't going to happen.

As with Jean-Luc before, a lifetime ago in the Information Center, Ianto _pushed_ as hard as he could, hurtling the mass of other away from his mind, forcing it out of his public mind and shutting even the most public of areas off once the other mind had left, growling in anger and defiance as he did so until he felt to the core of his being the will flowing into the power behind the shove.

The dragon in front of him reared up in a roar, backing up a few steps as it struggled to maintain its balance after Ianto had forced it out of his mind. With a smirk, he hoped as he had with Jean-Luc that it left the bastard with a bloody headache to end all headaches.

He may not have an ounce of gifted bone in his body, but he sure as hell could keep the psychic out.

"Stay the fuck out of my head," Ianto warned, aiming his gun first at the dragon, then at Michael whose cries equaled the dragon's pained roar, then to the howling Weevils and back to the dragon again. "And stay out of the minds of all those around me. That is _not_ how we begin conversations on Earth."

Ianto found himself remarkably calm. In the time it took to draw a steady breath while the dragon thrashed its head about in a swooping puce pendulum swing, he looked about and truly saw the enemy before him: Torchwood Four in all their monstrous splendor, some in various stages of what appeared to be transformation to the Weevil state. It was hideous, the scaled skin and piercing teeth, some with curled clawed hands, others with broadening foreheads and jutting jowls. Ianto wondered if it had something to do with the mental connection, the alien minds warping and twisting the humans until their very shape reflected the evil inflicted upon them. Could have a genetic component as well, but from what Ianto had felt within his own mind, he wondered how long a mind could remain human after that evil had broken through to their core human spirit.

He pitied the Weevils.

They had been human, once.

Michael distracted Ianto from his steady contemplation and growing empathy, his focus shifting in what felt incredibly slow but more probably had moved quickly, in real time. The leader of Torchwood Four stood with the same snarling Weevil at his side as he had in the signal interruption.  
   
He wondered if the Weevils still remembered their names.

"Bloody hell. Couldn't break the bitch either." Michael's voice sounded clear, a normal baritone instead of the multi-toned sounds Ianto had heard earlier. The dragon had stilled, finally, but appeared to be observing rather than controlling its puppet. Ianto spent little time on the dragon, his gun aimed directly at the Torchwood Four leader as Michael laughed, patting the arm of the Weevil beside him which snarled and pulled away from the touch. "Oh, but we tried, didn't we?" Ianto swallowed bile as he realized with certainty it was Ms. White he spoke of. His father had said it; her mind had been like Ianto's, perhaps he had meant more than just memory. "Beat her, bled her, snapped her, she just wouldn't give over." Michael's laughter turned to rage, shouting at Ianto like he was personally responsible.

The man was mad.

"I hereby arrest you, Michael Hallings, under Torchwood Codes 43.2a and 213-C for treason against Britain in the death of Ms. White." Ianto felt like ice ran in his veins, the gun unwavering on the man as his dependable memory recovered the long-buried images of Avalon burning, of the hand indicating where the body lay beneath the rubble of the massive desk, blood staining her white blouse. The bastard had killed her. And he was still an employee of Torchwood.

He knew the government would handle the situation, Michael would be tried for multiple counts of treason. How that would work with the recent public awareness of Torchwood he wasn't sure but it would be handled appropriately. Ianto knew it would.

But at the same time, vengeance would taste so sweet, even if it wasn't free.

Michael laughed, the man _laughed_. "And what makes you think I bloody care about your rules? I act with a higher purpose."

"So do I." Ianto let some of his fury creep into his words, all his grief and anger flooding the ice and directing the gun at the man's heart. Until now, he'd not believed it, not wanted to accept it, had wanted to keep the two separate in order to make it understandable. To comprehend and accept. But now that was no longer necessary. He'd accepted the Jacks, he'd accepted himself, and now, just one remained. And really, that wasn't so very difficult. Ianto smiled and Michael paled; he saw the color just bleed from the man's face as his laughter stopped. "Ms. White was my mother."

Nothing but silence reached his ears, but maybe it was just the peace of everything finally clicking into place, unlatching for the first time a stable strength Ianto had missed while fighting himself or others.

Ms. White was his mother.  
   
He never got a shot off, however; in fact, he didn't think Michael had even blinked as Ianto lost track of time as it moved around him. But before the trigger of Stephen's gun could be pulled, an ear-shattering wail began, so inhuman yet at the same time so heartbreakingly human it lacerated Ianto's nerves and forced him to stand still on limbs which refused to cooperate. 

The Weevils.

Their movement was so fast Ianto didn't have time to react even if he could; just watched a blur of action as the wailing continued but became broken, shattered as the pitch and meaning. As he numbly stared on, sound coming and going in waves of new auditory focus, decelerating until Ianto was almost certain he could discern a language within the sound.  A call to war.  At least that's what it felt like, the slowed patterns stretching out of time with the furious-paced action in front of him.  Occasional blasts of true sound reached his ears, disrupting the analysis, but mostly, he heard rage.  Anger.  Suffering.   
   
Images caught up, spinning forward too quickly for his mind to process, though Ianto was certain he'd remember vividly later when he had time to consider what had happened.  In his almost fugue-state, Ianto was shocked by what he saw, sound second to sight now that the overwhelming impressions were past.  Weevil attacking humans.  Not just any humans. particular humans.  The vicious, snarling Weevil had turned on Michael, its inhumanly sharp teeth tearing through the thin skin of the neck like katanas through paper.  Ianto caught sight of Michael's surprised face frozen in death as the body was thrown to the ground, limbs askew, a broken marionette cut from its cords. The violence was directed, this wasn't madness spreading before Ianto's eyes, bodies falling one after the other among Torchwood Four ranks, a few Weevil but most of all, human.

The Weevils were acting with purpose.

So much death.

"Stop this!" Ianto shouted to be heard above the wails of the Weevils and the sounds of blood and gore splattering the pavement, followed by clicks of weaponry falling. "No more death!"

Ianto wasn't sure who was more surprised when the Weevils stopped, him or the dragon who raised its head in response to the sudden stillness falling over the Plas. The Weevil which had once stood next to Michael stepped forward, a cautious step towards Ianto as it sniffed the air. Sniffed or ... Ianto wasn't sure what it was doing. He hadn't interacted with Weevils much, outside the occasional capture and handling their care within the Hub. But looking into its eyes, its depressingly _human_ eyes, Ianto could see fear. And pain.

And fuck if there wasn't hope.

Sounds of pain dotted the landscape, the injured voicing their wounds. No human remained standing that had been of Torchwood Four. Not a single one. For all appearance, dead or injured, their weapons lay scattered about them like dropped paperclips, removing the immediate threat of harm by that force. And still standing, the Weevils and the partially transformed, blood glistening on tooth and claw but they made no further indication of threat, just ... stood there. Watching the lead Weevil.  Watching Ianto.  And Ianto looked in return, seeing the Weevils for who they were in all various permutations of alien and human existence.

"Ianto, mind telling me what's going on? Cause from where we stood, it looked like they just listened to you."

From the corner of his eye, Ianto caught sight of Jack, gun ready but not immediately threatening as he stepped beside Ianto. The carnage was dreadful, just a fraction of a moment and everything had erupted in violence Ianto couldn't have stopped if he'd all the Weevil spray in Torchwood Three storage. He heard Jack swear at the bodies littering the pavement, at least, Ianto assumed it was a swear; even in alien languages, curses translate fairly clearly when delivered. Ianto had to agree, for no longer would horizons sing within these stones; rather angels would weep the past.

"If I were to hazard a guess," Ianto began, his eyes never truly leaving the lead Weevil's. It stared back, as though willing Ianto to understand, but for all Ianto tried, he couldn't. He wasn't gifted, he couldn't peer into the thoughts of the Weevil and discern their intent. He knew they were empathic, the old Jack had theorized as much, probably some absorbed trait from the aliens, but Ianto couldn't actively read them. A soft sound interrupted what he was going to say, a low resonating croon which threatened Ianto's grasp of control as it swelled, his throat closing as the song of sorrow crept along all the carefully stifled grief and reopened it to the exposure of the winter sun.

The Weevils.

Ianto listened, for the first time he truly listened to the calls of the Weevils, this cry so painfully revealing of unending sadness that Ianto wondered if he had missed it before or if they had never connected on such levels that he could understand. God, it was beautiful, even if for all appearances they were monsters, human emotions running through their being but trapped within an alien cage.

Ianto didn't miss the irony; for all he appeared human but believed himself a monster within, they appeared as monsters but were ultimately human within their thoughts.

He continued his answer to Jack while the Weevils still sang, providing a background Ianto could finally read. "Freedom. I would guess ... freedom." Because that's what it was, the Weevil's coup. Ianto had no idea why it had happened now. Maybe they remembered their families triggered by his statement, and all their losses because of the aliens. Or maybe it was just the most opportune time for rebelling against the ones who held them, controlled them, forced the Weevils to do their bidding for their masters, breaking them beyond what even had been done to Ms. White.

Or maybe, perhaps it was more simple. Maybe they had liked Ms. White.  
   
The tone of the Weevils' cry changed, lightening, just a bit, lifting from the sorrow, maybe in answer to his comment. God, he'd never listened before. They'd always been alien. Written off and tended to, but always ignored. They'd been forced into this shape, forced into their actions, but they still felt beneath it all. He could no more blame them for being monsters than he could himself. "Go on then." Ianto lifted his chin, jerking it towards the still-parted crowd from which the Torchwood Four group had entered.

"What're you doing? We spend half our time catching them for public safety."

Ianto smiled at the lead Weevil who remained still while the others broke away towards their exit from the Plas. Jack's statement was true, Torchwood Three had spent an inordinate amount of time capturing and caging Weevils who had crept into the streets to kill -- and return with food for the dragons, Ianto assumed. Efficient hunters, untraceable to any human involvement. But that was the past and while Ianto could make no guarantees, everything had changed. "If they bring harm to any person, Torchwood will find them. But they deserve their freedom, Jack." The Weevil bobbed its head as Ianto spoke to it rather than directly to Jack. It wasn't much of a life, Ianto knew they would never be accepted among Earth's population. But even in the tunnels underground or buried deep within the night, at least they were free. "They are still human."

The Weevil snarled, at least it sounded like a snarl to Ianto's human ears. He understood, though, for all it was alien in sound. Much like cursing, thanks defied language.

A leathery rustle reminded Ianto of the fact that the dragon still stood in the Plas, though how he could have forgotten a dragon in Cardiff he wasn't quite sure. Time seemed almost ... surreal ... melting and bending like a Dali painting. He had no concept of how much time had passed since they all had arrived on the Plas, much less a timeline of events. He supposed it was shock, or trauma, or maybe he had reached the point of calm the old Jack had always exerted in time of stress, when one had seen far so much that it either failed to penetrate too deep or was quickly cordoned off to deal with once the situation had passed and there was time to understand.

"Your toys are either dead or run off," Ianto finally spoke to the dragon who watched ever so still, as though quietly contemplating its options. Stepping away from Jack, Ianto moved forward towards the dragon, aware that all it would take would be a breath of fire from the alien to kill him but somehow believing the dragon would not.  Not for any measure of 'like' or care for his well-being, but Ianto knew there had been far too many points in the afternoon, dots upon the timeline, in which it could have killed all of Torchwood. But it hadn't; hadn't even moved when the Weevils had rebelled, and Ianto hardly thought the threat of the UNIT soldiers standing nearby was preventing it from acting. It wanted something. Something from him. "Why don't you start this conversation you requested."

"You are a worthy adversary, Mr. Black." Ianto watched, both surprised and not, as Tiffany emerged from behind the dragon, one hand pressing against a wound in her side and the other leaning against the belly of the alien for support. Her voice was compounded in tone as Michael's had been, Ianto assumed he now spoke with the dragon and not the woman. No human's voice sounded like this, tone upon tone, uniquely feminine but encompassing the scale of vocal range. "You speak for all people of what you call Earth?"

Did he? Ianto rather believed that wasn't in his job description. "I am one voice of many," Ianto carefully chose his words, knowing that thanks to the media who had remained despite the earlier events, all people of Earth were probably listening, "but I am the one with whom you have chosen to speak."

Tiffany/the dragon laughed, a chilling sound that raced down Ianto's spine. "Clever, Mr. Black. The death of your impostor was unfortunate, but I do not tolerate deception."

"And I do not tolerate the death of my people," Ianto all but growled in response, knowing rage wouldn't help matters, but he couldn't allow the death of Stephen, Torchwood Four, or any of the thousands around the world to go unacknowledged. "State your purpose."

The dragon's head lowered; Ianto was so close to the eye he could see himself reflected in the gold and black depths. It was disconcerting, the voice coming from a distance while the beast was in front of him, ventriloquism worthy of a Twilight Zone story, the human the dummy as another mind controlled it. "We seek your council to negotiate a treaty between our races. Our homeworld was destroyed by a terrible race, and we need land upon which to continue our lives. Earth is the first viable planet we have found and our supplies grow scarce."

Ianto didn't believe the story for a moment. Not when Earth had faced such a strategic attack. "I find myself strangely unconcerned for your race's welfare. Try the next planet on your list; you'll find no assistance here."

"We have much to offer in return for land. You are acquainted with some of our technology, Mr. Black. It is quite superior to yours."

While he couldn't be arsed about technology, with a sinking feeling he knew others who would be lured by the temptation of shield technology, including those who would use Torchwood's purpose to protect Britain and scavenge tech to protect against alien threat. He knew the Queen would back him on any decision he ultimately made, but the rest of the world's leaders and other various interested parties ...

This was a trap. None of Torchwood had been wrong in that, Ianto could feel it in the marrow of his bones. The aliens had launched a direct assault against Earth and now were looking to trade land for technology? To co-habitate peacefully with the human race? He couldn't believe it, no matter the story of tragedy the alien spun. No, they had harmed people, twisting their minds and bodies into Weevils. They had killed thousands. They had turned human against human. They sought destruction and conquest, not peace.

Tiffany laughed again, a soft, chuckle that sounded like glass scratching porcelain. It knew -- the dragon knew what game it played. Their words were being broadcast internationally, fuck, probably the reason the initial signal had been sent across all media channels; to alert those who had the power to record this event to the location and time so they'd be there, reporting and transcribing everything that was said. Everything, to all peoples of the Earth by sundown that day.

No matter the celebrations, no matter the spirit of world unity, this offer would not be turned down by everyone. Someone would give in, despite the attacks and the loss of lives. Someone would offer court and that would be the tipping point. That would be the moment, like Jack had once said with a gun to his head. Different race, same problem.

Torchwood One's legacy, mankind's fallacy.

How many times would history repeat itself?

How many times would he allow it to happen?

He could feel his heart rate double beneath both the dragon and Tiffany's gaze, though he supposed that was one in the same. He did wonder if she was aware as Michael had appeared to be. But Ianto felt no sympathy for her. She had given the dragons Avalon and his mother, and although she must have latched onto the vitriol the dragons fed as impressionable minds would a cult leader, she had made her choices in life.

As had he.

God, this was a trap.

"I accept your offer to enter into negotiations," Ianto said, surprising himself with the level confidence of his voice. Though, he really should have been, he'd built a life on lies.

"Your race is a generous one." Ianto had to fight to contain his eyeroll and the instinctual arch of an eyebrow. "If you would step closer, we can transport directly to my ship."

 _Traptraptraptraptrap_. He hadn't played this strong of a game since matching wits against his mother. "Given that you are requesting Earth to give so generously to your solicitation for assistance, I had assumed we would negotiate here."

Tiffany smiled, a predatory, hungry look if Ianto were ever to see one. It would probably have been more impressive had it been performed on a puce-colored dragon with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth, but an unnerving look all the same. "Unfortunately, some of our technology cannot be transported as easily as life forms and we understand the need to ensure viability before a treaty is signed. Would you so quickly turn away our offer of full disclosure, Mr. Black? We are nothing, if not honorable."

"Of course not, I meant no offense." _Shite._ "I will travel with you to your ship," Ianto agreed somewhat slowly, mind working furiously as he tried to think of an alternate plan. He held up his hand to effectively cut off Jack who had immediately begun protesting, protests which would most certainly not help Ianto think, "but I ask for twenty-four hours to confer with world leaders as I am just one voice and cannot speak to their needs or demands in the negotiations. You are, after all, asking one nation to relinquish land for your use."

"You have twenty-four hours, Mr. Black." Tiffany raised a hand, stalling Ianto's departure. "If you are not here at three o'clock tomorrow, we will consider this an act of hostility and negotiations with you closed."

Implying that another would have the chance? Ianto did not appreciate that information being shared worldwide; he would have to remember to have UNIT and the British military heighten security for the next twenty-four hours. "It will not come to that, I assure you. Until then."

Turning on his heel, Ianto let his strides carry him quickly away from the dragon and Tiffany, the dead and the wounded, trusting UNIT to respond if the dragon in any way threatened the civilians. Or Torchwood. But he assumed it wouldn't. The dragon wanted something from him. Something that wasn't precisely a treaty negotiation.

"You cannot be seriously considering following through with this." Jack caught up to him quickly; Ianto gave him one look, then was distracted by UNIT soldiers and medics moving forward to tend the injured and dead. Ianto whistled sharply, shouting for the injured to be placed under guard and arrested for treason while he directed one of the men with a gurney towards Torchwood Three who stood in a protective arc over Stephen's body.  Ianto refused to leave him behind to be tended by anyone other than himself or Owen.   
   
Stephen deserved that respect.   
   
Ianto didn't speak to Jack though, couldn't even look at him.  He couldn't think of an answer that wasn't ''yes, I am."

 

***

  
UNIT provided a buffer between Torchwood Three and the mobbing reporters shouting questions the entire stretch of pavement back to the Information Center. Questions about Stephen, questions about what Ianto (Mr. Black) intended to do. Questions as to why he hid his identity. Questions about his mother. Questions about everything.

Ianto didn't speak. Not once.

Neither did Torchwood Three, all strangely silent as Rhys and Owen carefully wheeled the gurney beside them, a white sheet masking the figure beneath.

Ianto didn't think about that, either.

It wasn't until they'd arrived at the lift, a quick gesture to the soldiers to station guards at the entrance leaving Ianto fairly comfortable that they would be left undisturbed in the Hub, that anyone spoke.

"So, you're Mr. Black then? I thought it was Jack."

Bless her for all her faults, but Gwen had truly remained innocent despite Torchwood's corrupting influence. Ianto rather hoped it never changed.

He smiled a flash of a smile, nothing to it, no feeling, no warmth, that was much beyond him given the quarters they shared. More than large enough for a gurney, but a tight fit for five others.

"For how long?"

Tosh answered Gwen's question for Ianto, relieving him of the task of speaking, for the moment. "Since Ms. White was killed when Avalon fell, the day Ianto had his migraine and was absent for four days." Ianto wondered how long she had had that figured out. Tosh's focus fell on Ianto; he could feel the weight despite not lifting his gaze from the white sheet carefully folded over the corner of the gurney. "I'm sorry, Ianto. I didn't realize she was your mother."

Ianto nodded, lifting his head with a sigh to rest it on the wall of the lift. Jack hadn't spoken a word since the Plas, but Ianto could feel a hand slip beneath the coat he wore, palm broad and reassuring against his back. Jack would demand to continue their conversation, but for the moment, Ianto leaned into the touch, drawing confidence he certainly didn't feel. "We were unsure who had attacked Avalon and I was unwilling to leave my post here. Stephen agreed to be the public face-" Ianto's voice cut off of its own volition, leaving him struggling to continue. The lift sank in silent descent while Ianto found his control again. "He swore his life, to protect mine."

"Well, don't be expecting me to be doing anything of the like, tea-boy. I only got a pittance of a raise this year, and don't think I don't blame you for that one."

Rolling his head against the lift wall, Ianto lowered his gaze to fall on Owen and felt his face warm in an honest grin. Typical Owen bluster. Ianto still remembered the shadow falling over him, Owen stepping to cover him and claiming to be Mr. Black. He had been risking his life for Ianto, and he wouldn't soon forget that.

Besides, he'd approved the maximum raise for Owen, just as he had the rest of the team.

Something in Ianto's smile made Owen flush and turn away, muttering about tea-boys and caffeine addiction and idiocy, much to Jack's amusement apparently as he began chuckling softly beside Ianto.

Further conversation was halted when the lift alert 'dinged,' announcing their arrival at the base's ground level. Rhys and Owen disembarked first, announcing their intent of transporting Stephen's body to Owen's autopsy theater. Jack, Gwen, and Tosh stayed behind, all looking fiercely determined. Ianto raised his hand, quickly dialing Lana to send her to Avalon, bringing with her all the elders she could contact.

They would need it.

Clicking off the phone, Ianto turned to the others.

"What can we do? The dragon was lying, they can't be here for peace."

Ianto had no more than opened his mouth to respond to Tosh when his mobile rang. Sheppard, again. He assumed this would be an enlightening conversation.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing? You can't go to that ship! It's a fucking trap! How can you be so stupid to agree to something like that? Jesus Christ, Ianto, have you got no sense? Kavanagh's got more brains than you and McKay swears the man has one the size of an atom of hydrogen which is apparently seriously fucking small. You-"

"How's the work on the shields coming?" Ianto interrupted Sheppard's tirade smoothly with the question, receiving his answer by the silence from Sheppard's end. Ianto continued, not stopping even when Sheppard tried to speak over him, voices escalating as they each fought for control of the conversation. "I appreciate your concern, but unless you have some demands for the negotiations, I really can't afford to waste time that could be spent trying to figure out a way to eliminate the threat to Earth. Keep me updated on the shields."

Ianto snapped his mobile shut, cutting off Sheppard in the middle of whatever he had been trying to say in defense of his argument. Owen and Rhys walked back into the Hub about the time the 'argument' had reached its highest pitch, and looked to the other three for an answer. No one moved, no sounds except the steady fall of water.  Ianto's gaze fell instead on Jack who leaned against the railing, arms crossed, his expression set in the most severe Ianto had yet seen. A conversation awaited, probably along the lines of Sheppard's earlier rant. Jack wouldn't be as easy to brush off, in fact, he couldn't quite hang up on the man. Ianto's mind spun wildly as it tried to logically deal with the situation, rationale for his actions and why Jack couldn't take his place outside the obvious.

Because, god, even if the dragons weren't telepathic, this Jack was younger. Torchwood needed the elder Jack in its past; _Ianto_ needed him in his past. Time made little sense to Ianto when it fell out of linear passage, but he knew this. He understood paradox.

This Jack had to live.

Ianto needed every moment, from his assignment to his first meeting in that dingy old Information Center to Lisa to the time spent at his father's after Avalon had burned and all the moments on scattered rooftops across the city.

He needed Jack for that first 'date,' when the insufferable Captain had dragged him to the invisible lift, determined to rid Ianto of that fear.

Jack had such a guiding influence on Ianto's recent years he wasn't quite sure where he'd be without him.

Fuck. Their first date.

Ianto could remember each word so clearly, how Jack looked that night, his greatcoat swirling about him as he stood in front of the Millennium Centre, the doors opening and the crowds pouring out but there Jack was, speaking words which at the time Ianto had a hard time believing.

 _"I don't know that I could, if it were you."  
"But you've stood back for others."  
"None of them looked nearly as good in a suit." _

Ianto had thought at the time, when Jack had said he couldn't stand back and watch Ianto die, that the Captain had most certainly loved in the past.

Loved and lost.

Fuck, how much had that Jack known?

Cold ice raced down Ianto's spine as pieces fell into place, scattered and pulled from all the snapshots of time within his mind. He became aware that the Hub had grown silent in his silence, staring at Jack as Jack stared back. Taking a moment to straighten his leather jacket, just to give him an excuse to pull his eyes away from Jack's in case any of his thoughts shown through, Ianto smiled the most proficient business smile he'd cultivated in all his years of lies and deceit.

His life was built upon them. What were a few more to ensure the past?

"Gwen, Rhys, Owen, Tosh, I need you to search the Archives for information regarding Fornaxian engineering. That galaxy cluster was home to hundreds of technologically advanced races through the centuries. For all their arrogance, I have a suspicion that these dragons are collectors, not creators. There may be information we failed to compare in our databases because those records are quite antiquated."

"What? But that's-"

"Do as you're told for once, Owen," Ianto snapped back as he turned his phone 'off.' No interruptions. "It's filed under either 'E' for engineering or 'F' for Fornax. Tosh can teach you the alphabet if you're confused. Jack." Ianto gestured towards Jack's office, the other man pausing only a moment before nodding, shoulders set and his entire body-line hard as stone.

A storm was brewing.

Ianto waited long enough that he saw each of the team exit towards the Archives, grumbling confused arguments as they went, before he gathered himself and walked to Jack's office. He closed the door behind him, hoping to keep any sounds of shouting from the Archives; it would do no good for the team to hear he and Jack argue.

Or anything else.

"You can't do this."

Ianto smiled briefly, walking around to Jack's desk to sit in his chair. "And what if they speak the truth? They mean to make peace, to rebuild their civilization ravaged by a terrible race." He rifled through the desk drawer contents, moving objects around noisily. He was searching, looking. At least that's what he lied. "We would truly be doing a disservice to the human race by portraying ourselves to be equally ruthless and savage." Ianto held up the key that had been the excuse for the search. Unlocking the bottom drawer, Ianto removed the bottle of aged single malt Scotch Jack kept hidden for times such as these.

And this most certainly was one of those times.

"You don't believe that."

"Don't I?" Ianto located two glasses, pouring a finger of the amber alcohol in each. He paused, god, he didn't even fool himself with those lies. But he knew, he knew with certainty that Jack would attempt to stop him no matter the greater good, no matter the big picture. And at the current moment, there were no other options. "Jack, would you ... " Ianto started and lost his confidence.

"Would I what?"

Ianto could feel Jack step closer, the heat of his body just inches away from his. Even without immortality, the fire of life still burned with in.

God, this Jack had to live.

"The other ... you. The older you, we had this tradition," Ianto laughed in mockery of memory that wasn't real. "When things turned sour, we'd ..."

"Get blistering drunk?"

"No, well, yes, sometimes. But we'd toast, then perform a sacrilegious act and shoot the first round. Second, we'd act civil. But ... please? I need this." Ianto twisted and held up a glass, bearing the weight of Jack's contemplative look. They never really talked about the other Jack, it was a bit of taboo when it came to conversation. Ianto couldn't blame Jack; living up to a memory of one's self would be a challenge no matter the legends. And Jack had to deal with that plenty with the others of Torchwood Three, but it had never been broached between them.

Until now.

Jack looked resigned, but took the glass anyways, perhaps in acknowledgment of the fucked up situation Torchwood Three was in or maybe it was just concession to this one odd request of Ianto's. "And what did you toast to?"

Ianto refrained from reacting negatively to the words, just smiled and held up his glass. "To Torchwood."

Jack arched a brow in response to the toast, but clinged his glass against Ianto's all the same. "To Torchwood." Glasses raised and Scotch was drank, one drink, one swallow, Jack standing so close Ianto swore he could hear each neuron fire as throat muscles contracted to swallow. He was beautiful. _Captain Jack Harkness._ Ianto wondered what his name was.

Smiling a smile Ianto didn't feel, he poured their second drink, tucking the bottle back in the bottom drawer.

"You can't go."

Ianto rolled his eyes, standing up to pace the office, drink in hand. He needed a plan, in addition to the one he currently was executing. "I don't want to go, Jack, but that doesn't mean I will shirk my responsibilities. If we don't have a plan to lower their shields, I've no other choice."

"They'll kill you!" Jack stood in front of him, stopping Ianto's pacing. "They killed your mother. What makes you think you'll be any different?"

"What else am I supposed to do? You once told me this is where these things start. Small decisions that become mass slaughter." Ianto could hear every word as he spoke in time with the memory in his head, "these creatures regain a foothold by exploiting human weakness. Weakness, Jack. It will start with a meeting with someone craving power. Unlimited power," Ianto laughed as he quoted Yvonne. Fuck, he was not cut out for this job. He didn't know anyone who was. "I don't go, someone else will. And then we might as well have raised the white flag for the warriors and given Earth over then, sparing Avalon. They'll come and take a base. Rebuild their forces, you said. And before you know it, the whole bloody dragon race is spreading out across the universe, erasing worlds, assimilating populations. All because of the tiny beginnings here, Jack!"

Jack's hands shook as he sipped his Scotch, Ianto could see the tremors. God, Jack was angry, but Ianto knew he was right. He had to be.

"Small decisions, huh, Ianto? What about yours?" Ianto watched as the vein in Jack's forehead, the one that only throbbed when Jack was the most angry, and at his most stubborn, began to throb in tempo with Ianto's heart. "You don't think this could become mass slaughter? You leave, Mr. Black is gone."

"If I don't, the dragons will come." Ianto ran his fingers over the buttons of Jack's shirt, feeling the slight curve and thread, memorizing before moving down to the next, and the next, tracing the line of Jack's chest through the tiny bits of plastic.

"No," Jack pushed Ianto's hand away, shoving him off-balance and while Ianto stumbled to maintain his footing (though he lost control of his Scotch, a pity), he pulled his Webley from its holster. "I will not stand by and watch you die!"

Fuck it was confusing, which Jack was Jack. Conversations overlapped, reaffirmed and assured that this was certainly no impostor. Ianto looked down the barrel of a gun, for the countless time in his life, but he knew this time, there'd be no death, even if Rani wasn't present. "Are you going to kill me, Jack?" Ianto smiled sadly, remembering the last time Jack had held a gun to his head. He rather thought Jack was serious at that time and he didn't doubt Jack now. "Stop death by doling it out yourself?"

"I won't let you leave. You won't show up, we'll fight the dragons just as we did before."

"With what, Jack? What will you fight with? Avalon's out and their shielded ship is bigger than our moon." Ianto smiled as he saw the gun waver, the strength in the grip failing. "You're right though. You wouldn't just let me leave. You'd do something foolish, play the hero. Have I ever told you how many times you've died for the team, Jack? How many times you've sacrificed your life for the greater good? Of course," Ianto smiled ruefully, "you were immortal then. Not so much now."

Jack shook his head, Ianto assumed to clear his vision more so than denial though it could have been a bit of both. Carefully, he removed the gun from Jack's hand, not a difficult feat as Jack only seemed to notice after the gun was gone that he ought to fight him off. Ianto barely managed to slip it onto the desk before Jack's knees gave way and he caught the bulk of the captain's weight before he toppled to the floor. Ianto helped him into a chair, setting the glass on the arm, remaining expressionless despite Jack's accusations.

"What have you done?"

Ianto leaned against Jack's desk, deliberately not remembering the times he and Jack had worked off the emotions and energy of a particularly rough mission and instead focused on his plan. Jack's words were a bit slurred; but Ianto would not underestimate how much a species might have physiologically evolved in three thousand years. "What I must to keep you and Torchwood Three safe."

"Retcon?" Jack's laughter sounded so wrong, so off, a sluggish, rasping chuckle that Ianto heard after a night of sex and too little sleep. "Won't work."

"I assumed as much." Ianto watched as Jack's head dropped forward only to jerk back up again as he fended off sleep, the instinct to reach out and touch, to hold Jack so strong Ianto had to cross his arms to remain still. "Whether your body or your mind would repel any attempt at conditioning, I couldn't be certain. Doesn't matter, so long as the sedative worked." Ianto broke from his lean, straightening with business-like efficiency, desperately depending on old habits to carry him through this. He walked to the wall safe, where the most dangerous of finds were kept, and quickly entered the code.

"We've hours before deadline, I'll wake up."

 _"Wake up and kick your ass from here to Glasgow."_ Ianto's mind helpfully supplied. He smiled at the idea, pausing a moment before opening the safe; whether in regret or second thought he wasn't sure but it was so tempting to push it shut, leave it be and forget the plan had ever been considered. Ignoring any doubt, he pressed on, taking each locked box out one by one. "You will wake," Ianto sadly agreed, refusing to think about where or when. His hands began to shake as he removed box after box, but he doubted it was due to physical strain.

God, he couldn't do this. Not to Jack.

"Ianto?"

His name was stretched across syllables and lifetimes, sounding for the first time hesitant and tasting just slightly of fear. It shattered Ianto's resolve to remain untouched, aloof, a model of Torchwood One's dispassion and arrogance with just a breathed word.

No, he had to. Jack had to live.

Ianto pretended he was doing this to preserve timelines, to make sure the past played out in Jack's future. But he wasn't quite as good at lying to himself as he was to others, he never really had been, and Jack's life was more important now; Jack wasn't immortal. He'd do something to stop Ianto and he would ... The doubts crept in again, tingling at the back of his neck just above his spine, stretching its shadowed tendrils out to numb his hands, force the release of the last box tucked into the furthest recesses of the safe. It had the opposite effect, however, the numbness; Ianto gripped the handle even tighter, removing the clear-walled box from the confines of the safe to its new resting spot on top of Jack's desk.

He snapped the seals, refusing to look at Jack, trusting the sedative to maintain its grip a little while longer. Not much longer, Ianto realized as he withdrew various objects he'd studied during Jack's absence. He knew essentially what each should do, in theory and based on what he had learned during his training at Torchwood One. A plasma weapon, a utility knife which functioned as a portable medical trauma analysis system, various bits and bobs and finally, a slim device. Shaped rather like a malformed wishbone, the twin curved prongs cursing out from the central point in dove-grey innocence. At the center, a rather simplistic computer system masking an enormous storage array, built on science far beyond the 21st century.

All of them, stamped with the mark of the Time Agency.

"Don't do this."

Jack's sky-blue eyes bore into his, awake but Ianto knew it was probably more to do with a burst of adrenalin than the sedative wearing off. Jack had yet to move from the chair and Ianto hoped this energy would not lead to a fight, not that Ianto would blame him if he tried.

He just couldn't fight Jack.

"Earlier, I wondered how much you knew, the older you. And I realized you knew nothing." Ianto slowly rounded the desk and held up the device. Jack's eyes followed, but he made no attempt to move. "You wouldn't have left, knowing this day was coming, when the Earth you fought to protect would be so threatened." Ianto crouched in front of Jack, sinking so he could better look at Jack, knowing this left him terribly open to retaliation, but he needed this; he needed to be close to Jack.

He just hoped Jack didn't have the alertness to kick.

"You would have tried to stop me, months, years ago. And you'd still attempt to stop me now, risking your life to do something foolish because that's what heroes do." Ianto traced Jack's cheek, regret fueling his determination when Jack pulled away. He didn't miss the anger or the betrayal in Jack's glare; Ianto couldn't deny that he deserved it. He deserved all of Jack's recriminations, all his hatred, and as Jack attempted briefly (and weakly) to fight him off, Ianto admitted he deserved the pain as well.

Fuck, he couldn't be doing this.

The struggle seemed to take everything from Jack as he sagged back into the chair, Ianto carefully restraining Jack's fists with a hand pressing them firmly into Jack's thighs to prevent another fight. He didn't think it'd happen as Jack looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Two years, you said, two years you couldn't remember." Ianto quickly programmed the device, holding the prongs to Jack's temples. "I can't stand aside and let you die. Not for me, not for Torchwood."

Ianto looked over the device, framing Jack's piercing eyes as though to converge the fury like a magnifying lens the sun. It worked, too, burning straight through Ianto's defenses to explode into guilt which threatened to suffocate for all its intensity. Ianto could scarcely breathe, much less speak, and it took everything he had to croak out the words he'd spoken so long ago, when he'd chosen Rani's safety over Jack's life. "I'm sorry, Jack."

He didn't close his eyes; he deserved to see, to remember every moment within his unforgetting mind just what he'd done to Jack. Ianto pressed the button to activate the device without hesitation, feeling what little remained of his innocence curl fetal within his mind, screaming denial as Jack's head slammed back, trying to escape the arching ends that glowed so brilliantly. Ianto's eyes watered; he blamed the light as it pulsed impossibly bright, searing the vision of Jack, betrayed, so deep into his mind he'd see it upon waking and even after he closed his eyes at night.

The device shut off, leaving Ianto's vision struggling to keep up with the drastic changes but it didn't stop him from seeing the vacant expression written upon Jack's face, eyes wandering from object to object within the room, drowsily smiling at nothing and everything.

God, he felt sick.

"Jack, remember." Ianto whispered, touching Jack's face in an attempt to draw those vibrant blue eyes towards his, nearly weeping when they failed to lock on his face. God, he deserved this last memory for what he'd done. Standing enough to make it possible, Ianto placed a gentle kiss on Jack's lips, warm but so coldly unresponsive. "Remember, the 21st century is when everything changes. And you have to be ready." Jack had to be. He had to prepare Torchwood Three. Cardiff would not survive the attack without Torchwood Three, especially not after Torchwood One fell to the Daleks and Cybermen.

Ianto paused before speaking low into Jack's ear, though no one else was listening. "I love you, Jack." With a smile that didn't reach his eyes and resolve more firmly rooted in desperation, Ianto straightened, first slipping the Webley into Jack's holster before walking away, leaving Jack alone, sleepy and lost as his mind healed around the missing memories.

He didn't look back at Jack, he couldn't. Now after he'd done it, Ianto could hardly stand to be in the same room as the living reminder of everything monstrous about him.

He wondered if this was how his mother had felt when Torchwood One had fallen.

Picking up the pocket knife-med kit, Ianto depressed the button he assumed was the emergency beacon. With hope that the device still had power to alert the proper individuals across whatever time and space it needed to, Ianto sank into Jack's chair and stared at the treasure-trove of artifacts Jack had collected over the years. Of course the ugly statue with a hole in its middle was there ...

Wilson had turned out all right. No permanent damage.

Ianto wondered if he should hit the signal button again.

Time passed, Ianto knew so because he had counted forty-eight breaths before Jack's office walls seemed to ripple, carrying a current of light that shouldn't have been. Ianto slowly turned in the chair, unsurprised to find two weapons pointed at him; one he recognized the tech, though it was a significantly advanced version from what he had seen in training, and the other looked remarkably like an old Winchester rifle, Model 1892 if his eyes weren't mistaken, though it appeared a custom build. The clothing of woman and man were remarkably eclectic as well, ranging from what looked like Korean War era on the boy to dark brown pants of the Western era, leather gun belt and vest on the woman, though he supposed it shouldn't have surprised him given Jack's penchant for fashion. The man looked barely old enough to hold a pistol, much less be aiming a weapon at him.

Ianto supposed Time Agents did have to go through training as well. He pitied the poor individual stuck with Jack as a youth.

"You are unauthorized to use this equipment."

He snorted and eyed the younger one who had spoken in a clipped, remotely Irish accent before focusing his attention on the elder. Ianto nodded slowly to the chair behind them, not wanting to draw their ire. Upon reflection, maybe this hadn't been one of his wiser ideas, given what Jack had said about his time with the Agency and the limited intel from Torchwood One. He skipped the obvious part of the conversation, knowing that if they were familiar with the equipment at all, they would recognize the effects. "He's also been dosed with a double-strength sedative. I trust you have facilities which can provide care."

The older Agent definitely recognized Jack though she tried to hide it, the rifle unwavering as it aimed at Ianto. The hard edge was unmistakable; he had seen the expression on Jack's face before. Military, maybe found skills in a war or two. Seen a lot of death, lived a hard life. She was beautiful though, or maybe it was the hard edge which gave her the beauty. "We don't take kindly to attacks on our own."

Ianto bit his tongue at what he wanted to say, instead he nodded his acknowledgment of her threat. He didn't particularly know what to believe when it came to Time Agents, cons and ploys all part of the job. This act could be as much artificial as Owen's preferred cheese. "He doesn't belong in this time. I assume you can safely transport him to the correct period."

"You'll be handing over his memories then."

"No." Ianto knew with a certainty of only one he would trust with such a treasure outside of himself. And even that respect was questionable of late. He stood, placing his hands on the desk and gestured to Jack. "You will transport him away and see to his safety. His memories stay with me."

"You have no authority to tell us what to do!" The kid finally spoke, his voice rising defiantly, though he might not have been much younger than Ianto, Ianto still _felt_ old next to him.

"What he means to be sayin' ..." the woman drawled, glancing at what must have been a new recruit. It made sense, answering a medical emergency signal wouldn't demand fully trained operatives. "... is you're not exactly in a position to be making demands. Our equipment comes with us."

"They are Jack's personal possessions and memories. They stay with Torchwood." Ianto raised his chin, daring the woman to argue. He really had no leverage, nothing he could even offer in return. He just knew the device, storing the memories, could not leave with the pair. He would fight for them, if he must.

"Torchwood?" The woman looked around, clearly not all that impressed with the Captain's office. The kid was another story, taking a new interest in his surroundings. Ianto hoped he didn't get too comfortable, the team would be back soon and these people needed to leave "What's your name, mister?"

Ianto didn't hesitate. "Mr. Black. And you might be?"

"Mr. Black?" The kid started firing off a language Ianto had never heard, but the woman seemed to understand. She jabbed him in the ribs with her rifle to shut him up; Ianto had to smile and thought of how many times he would have liked to have done that to Owen. And have it work so well.

The woman caught the smile, and Ianto could almost swear he saw shared amusement in her eyes as well. "Of course, sir. We'll just be taking our Agent and be on our way."

Ianto blinked in surprise as the two Agents turned to Jack. No further argument? He had been prepared for a fight, and instead, compliance? For all the kid had appeared lanky, he was strong, hefting Jack easily to a standing position as out of it Jack appeared. He finally found his voice, talking to the woman directly, more plea than an order of any kind. "You'll not harm him and breathe no word of how or where you found him."

She looked at Jack, slumped and semi-conscious on the shoulder of the kid, then back to Ianto. She seemed to understand him far better than the kid; Ianto supposed that maybe, she had felt something equally as protective at some point in her life. "I'll make sure the kid keeps his tongue. A pleasure, Mr. Black."

The woman punched something into a wrist device similar to Jack's and the walls shimmered again, dancing with sparks of light. The whole act was soundless, at least to Ianto's ears, and he watched as they simply walked into the light without harm, carrying their burden with them.

Fuck. He'd done it.

His knees shook so hard he was forced to sit in Jack's chair, staring mindless at the wall for a few moments to collect himself. Just a few moments, he knew that was all the time he had to dwell but he needed it, needed the quiet to reflect, to consider what he'd done and how if the dragons didn't kill him, a returning Jack most certainly would.

But Jack's life was worth the consequences. Jack would live to play hero another day.

With a deep breath forcing dark thoughts from his mind, Ianto stared at the office with a clear head, noting the disarray and things that needed to be done. He stood quickly, gathering all the Agency objects, save for the memory device (he'd never gotten the name of the device, perhaps he'd refer to it as the Mind Bind) and placing them back in the safe box. Renewing the seals, Ianto placed the box back in its home within the safe, buried deepest and furthest from detection. Then he began restoring all the boxes to their original home, pausing when he encountered a few devices which caught his eye. He left those out, they might work well into future plans.

Cradling the device (Mind Bind) in his hands, Ianto scowled as he tried to anticipate future events in order to convey a package, especially difficult for someone with no gift of clairvoyance or time device. The Time Agents -- they had appeared familiar with the name Torchwood, surely Torchwood survived? Or maybe it had been destroyed, and Torchwood's infamy carried through as a lesson to those who wished to challenge dragons, which would make storage at Torchwood Three illogical.

Fuck.

Ianto stared, desperately willing the innocent-looking device to give some indication of how to convey a message. A quiet hum distracted him from his unwavering stare; it was barely audible, in fact, Ianto was fairly certain it wasn't audible at all. He felt it more than heard it, resonating on a pitch that tingled his nerves, making them dance in awareness. Looking about the room, Ianto searched for the source; it was light, spirited, not dark and oppressing as the dragons, and his heart raced just a little. He couldn't explain it, couldn't explain how he knew but this was his answer. Something was ... just at the edge of his public mind, tickling awareness.

It'd be unnerving, if it wasn't so comforting.

His eyes fell on the bit of coral Jack kept on his desk, a coral which through the years had appeared to grow despite lack of sea water or rock. A single touch, just a bare brush of his fingertips had that awareness in the corner of his mind sparking into life, crackling with intensity and nearly overwhelming his senses as no thought entered his mind, no image, just a feeling of ... 'right'. It was beautiful, a shattering awe of something exuding both timeless age and wisdom, yet an innocent youth which reminded him of his sister swinging on the old wood swing back at his father's, laughing with a gaiety as only a child could laugh.

He didn't know why he did it, it just seemed the right thing to do and really, he knew he hadn't consciously decided to act, but his hand was moving, setting the memory device upon the coral in a depressed curve which Ianto swore hadn't been there before. Ianto's eyes widened in amazement as the coral moved, curling about the device, securing it and protecting it in a blanket of replicated or altered growth he knew was too fast for an ordinary piece of coral. In a panic, realizing there was no explanation, Ianto grabbed a piece of paper from Jack's desk -- a requisition slip, but Ianto wasn't picky. He jotted a quick note, then nabbed another piece, this time a letter from the Prime Minister about funding. Scribbling one last note, he addressed both and set them carefully atop the coral as well.

In a breath, the paper had disappeared and the coral looked as it had once before.

Shaking, Ianto's mind caught up with what he had just done. Jack's memories were ... gone. He'd trusted the security of Jack's memories to ... an old piece of coral? He was both foolish and brash, he had no reason to believe that the device would ever reach the one person Ianto knew would secure the memories and keep them safe until they were returned to Jack.

But yet, he was rather assured they would.

Ignoring what he could no longer change, Ianto broke into the boxes, slipping one blue-tinged pebble-shaped object into his pocket and keeping the larger, cross-shaped weapon out. He had no plan, no concept of what to do, except he knew they might come in handy for any plan they did come up with.

***

That was how Rhys found him some time later, sitting in Jack's chair, absently spinning the weapon on his finger at irregular intervals, the weight of the object carrying it completely through its revolution without falling, a most disastrous thing given that Ianto presumed it could fire, shoot a hole through the office walls (or himself) but he was feeling a bit reckless.

"Sir, I've taken the liberty of cataloguing the information the other mindless lot researched, given they had no skills for tracking or any sort of methodology. So far, we've found one hundred sixty-three instances of engineering cross-referenced with Fornax, fat lot of good that did as most of it was just rubbish hair trimmers or gizmos to fix a leaky faucet-" Rhys stopped tapping his pencil on the clipboard, to Ianto's relief, as a thought must have struck him. "Oh, I've been had. They figured I'd walk in on you and Jack buggering over his desk or something, like that'd shock me after I caught Owen and that alien gal with, never mind. Ah, where's Jack?"

The question instantly stopped the spinning, making Ianto clutch the weapon with a ferocity which startled him. He knew he should have come up with an explanation, something rational to legitimize his disappearance. For once, his mind still calculating every permutation for plans and theories based on weapons on hand and intel on the the alien species, theories and plans far more often than not discarded as futile, for once he was left without an answer. "He left," Ianto said simply, lacking a better response.

"Left?" The statement didn't even seem to phase Rhys. "Do you need me to phone him? We best be putting all our minds on this, can't have you wandering off to some space ship filled with vicious little aliens without a plan. We're going to have a plan, right?"

"We'll have a plan," Ianto reassured, unconvinced himself if they actually would. None of his plans were creating a viable outcome. "No leads with the Fornax technology?"

"No, sir. Lots of engineering, but mostly household items. Could stand to find one of their laundry units, myself. None of this sorting by colors nonsense."

Ianto felt his eyebrow arch into his hairline as Rhys spoke, more disbelief than annoyance, the word sounded more foreign than when a complete stranger had spoken it less than an hour ago. "Rhys," Ianto interrupted, only strong will preventing himself from laughing at the ludicrousness. "We've been on first names for months. Why the 'sir'?"

Rhys shrugged, as though the answer should be perfectly clear to Ianto. Which, it wasn't. Ianto waited, and finally the other man responded. "Seeing as how you're in charge of things and aliens are asking for you by name, can't well be calling you by name like I would my mates. Besides," Rhys grinned and Ianto wondered how it was that despite everything, the man could be unfailingly happy, "look at the missus. I work best following orders. Keeps her happy and lets me get away with more in the end."

With a snort, Ianto ran a hand over his face, scrubbing away any sense of tiredness and stress, least of all the absurdity of someone older than him addressing him as 'sir.' Which reminded him of Jack and the brief levity faded. With a sigh, Ianto looked at Rhys with sudden concern as to what the man may be trying to get away with. He'd hid a Cyberwoman in the basement, after all. "Remind me later to scan the security logs to ensure you've not slipped anything toxic into the creamer Owen prefers."

"Now, that'd be right deviant of me, wouldn't it, sir?" Rhys just smiled the innocent smile of the cat who caught the canary and Ianto began to question how much Rhys truly knew about the secrets of Torchwood and the affairs she hid.

The quiet types. Always the underestimated.

"So, should I phone Jack, then?" Rhys continued, resuming his pencil-tapping.

"No, we'll plan without Jack as he won't be joining us."

"Who won't be joining us?"

Ianto glanced up as Tosh's voice sounded behind Rhys. With no warning, all the other Torchwood Three members had filed into the room, shifting about so all could stand within sight of Ianto, an action Ianto found incredibly unnerving. They were all looking at him expectantly, like he had an inkling of how to continue, of where to guide them. "Jack." Ianto sat back in the chair after setting the cross-shaped weapon (too dangerous a distraction to be toying with at the moment) down on the desk. "He won't be joining us. He's left for another mission again."

It was sickening, feeding that story to the team, but Ianto could hardly admit to what he'd done. He'd confess later, when the fate of the world wasn't upon their shoulders.

"Jack's gone? Again? But why? Surely he left an explanation after last time. Did you see him leave? What did he say?"

Gwen's rapid questions, her constable mind in overdrive it seemed given the frantic escalation in tone, tweaked his headache again, and Ianto rubbed his temples, ignoring the flashes of slim prongs touching Jack's in perfect symmetry, ravaging his mind to steal the memories of the past two years. "He didn't say. He said he was sorry, but he had to leave," Ianto lied, the words sounding false even to him.

There was a time when such a lie would have come easy. Now, it all sounded so wrong.

He had no time to second guess the lies as two hands tore him away from the chair, spinning him until his back hit the wall (luckily missing the row of shelves, that would have been dreadfully painful), an action Stephen would have chided him for failing to deflect but he had been admittedly distracted at the time.

And Gwen was admittedly pissed.

"Don't lie to me, Ianto. Where is he?" Gwen's hands pushed his crumpled tee up and against his throat; revealing what had to be an inordinate amount of pale skin for the others to see but they were either too stunned by Gwen or they agreed too much with her questions to make any effort to assist him. "He wouldn't have left us again, not when we need him. Tell me, where is he?"

Her hands shook with the effort it took to keep him restrained against the wall, not that Ianto didn't believe he couldn't have broken her hold with minimal effort. But he rather feared his actions would be stronger, driven far more by jealousy -- jealous of her anger, jealous of her loss of control, jealous of her apparent fixation on Jack that had never really left him since Gwen had arrived that first day -- than naught and she didn't deserve that sort of petty revenge. She was frantic, he understood that. Hell, they probably all were a little stressed-to-breaking at this point in time. They had more time to think, more experience to fear and far less certainty than their previous battle against the dragons. Small wonder she had reacted so fiercely.

Small wonder he couldn't help but be more than a little jealous of her freedom to react.

"He's safe." Ianto's voice cracked, but he had nothing more he could say. The others weren't safe; he knew that. None of them were. And hearing himself admit his concern for Jack's safety, well, it felt so shallow and unimportant to the concerns Gwen had for herself, Rhys, and her team. But, he reminded himself, he was protecting the team as well, protecting their past by saving Jack now. That had to mean something.

The click of a gun distracted him from Gwen's stare; Ianto didn't bother hiding his surprise at Owen. Not that he should have expected anything less, he'd actually shot Owen. A little threatening in return wouldn't be so amiss.

"Gwen, put Mr. Black down."

Course, Owen always managed to do precisely the opposite of what Ianto believed he would do.

"Can't you see, Owen? Jack's gone. Torchwood _needs_ Jack. There's a bloody ship the size of a moon coming and there's nothing stopping an all out attack. We need every man here and Ianto's more concerned about his boyfriend's safety than Cardiff's."

"All right, that's about enough threatening, luv." Rhys stepped with surprising casualness in front of Owen's gun, prying Gwen's hands from Ianto's throat. Gwen protested, of course, complete with the requisite angry tears  but Ianto was more concerned with straightening his shirt and breathing than comfort at the moment. "She just needs a moment and we'll be back."

"Take as much time as you need." Ianto nodded his thanks to Rhys before he left with the struggling Gwen, still determined to get answers from Ianto. He wondered if a sedative wouldn't be necessary, perhaps he should have Owen leave with them.

Which reminded him of the two watching the whole ordeal with what amassed to contemplative quiet; Ianto could almost see the gears cranking in their minds.

He needed a plan, not accusations.

"You sent him away, didn't you?" Tosh spoke softly, but her voice seemed to echo about the office in the silence that had followed Gwen and Rhys' departure. Owen was still silent, hand on his chin, staring at the abandoned glasses. She wasn't accusing, just commenting, her tone gentle like she was scared she'd startle a deer into bolting.

Maybe she was right.

Ianto thought about lying and knew that'd be a hopeless gesture at this point in time. "Yes," he said quickly, moving back behind the desk to add a barrier between him and the other two. Not that he feared for himself, but the truth just felt better coming with a shield in place.

"That wasn't our Jack you saved at Torchwood Four." Again, another statement, not a question. Tosh had apparently put together a lot more than Ianto had given her credit for.

"That's why all his labs were off!" Owen shouted, causing Ianto to flinch at the sound. He'd have said something, but Owen continued, the proverbial light bulb on and fueling the theory. "Couldn't make sense of it, especially with you going all sacrificing in order to save his bloody immortal life. But if he wasn't able to come back all smiles from death's door, and you knew ... fuck, Ianto. What other bloody secrets are you keeping?"

"You sent him away because he hadn't yet lived our past," Tosh continued before Ianto could say anything about secrets and aliens and well, anything, her voice rising in excitement as her theory gained ground in her head. "He was unsurprised with time travel, when we went back to 1941. He was younger, wasn't he?"

"And he'd've acted like a bloody fool and gotten himself killed tomorrow," Owen concluded with a smirk.

Ianto had nothing to say, just stood there, staring at his team in stunned silence. He hadn't assumed they'd figured it out, not that they weren't observant, well, Tosh was, Owen was questionable at times. But he hadn't considered a time when they might know. Maybe he should have said something upfront; though it had seemed such a good idea at the time to keep it from the others. He was underestimating people again, misjudging.

He was definitely not cut out for this job.

Quietly, a small voice inside him hoped they never asked how he'd sent Jack off. They might forgive him for lying to them about Jack, but they'd never forgive what he'd done. He had a hard enough time forgiving himself.

His arms were suddenly filled with a slight, female figure, wrapping him in a hug so tight he could hardly breathe. Ianto was fairly certain Tosh was crying, but after recent events he could not fathom how to comfort what he had no idea was causing the emotion He supposed it was losing Jack. Losing him twice, actually. He held her, rubbing soothing circles as he did so often with Elaine. While she clung, Ianto took a brief glance at Owen (not desperate, though it might have appeared as such) who just shrugged and smirked at Ianto's situation.

Ianto wasn't amused.

She pulled away just as quickly as she'd arrived, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek as she'd done times before. It wasn't so much the action that surprised him, but her words, spoken in a whisper, "Your team loves you as well, Ianto."

Tosh smiled as she pulled away, leaving Ianto flushed red as he tried to figure out what the hell she meant by that and how much she'd understood about his concern for the team. As her earlier confidence dissolved into the Tosh that Ianto understood much better, Tosh's eyes darted to every surface but Ianto or Owen as she wiped her cheeks dry. "I'll just ... I've some reports to run." And with that, she dashed out of the office, leaving Ianto and Owen staring at each other.

"Don't ask me, I'm shite with women." Owen threw his hands up then flopped with typical Owen-flair into the chair Jack had once sat, the half-full glass still on the arm. Ianto sat as well, watching as Owen sniffed the glass curiously (Ianto placed quick two-to-one odds that Owen would actually drink the contents), then set it down. "Give me credit, Ianto. Jack wouldn't have willingly left. Which brings me to my next question."

Ianto blinked as Owen's sidearm again made an appearance, this time most certainly aimed at him.

"What other secrets, tea-boy? Cause I'll be arsed if you put the rest of the team in danger. Are you even human?"

Resting his elbows on the chair, fingers steepled at his lips, Ianto stared down the barrel of the gun, growing rather tired of the sight. "You're the doctor, you'd know better than me if I weren't human."

He had to give Owen credit. The statement didn't seem to faze him, nor did the gun ever waiver. "I'd believe that if the wool weren't pulled over my eyes about Jack; I should've been told. And you still haven't answered my question."

"What, secrets?" Ianto felt on far more familiar ground with this line of questions. Jack was his downfall, he knew, but lies about family, his past, those came much more easy. "Or human? If I'm not, what would you do then? Kill me?" He quirked his eyebrow with a small nod at the gun. "Or maybe I am perfectly human, but you believe I'm lying and kill me anyway. Either case, you're left with an appointment with the dragons tomorrow and no Mr. Black."

With a curse, Owen lowered the gun, checking the safety before setting it in his lap. "Fine. Who the bloody hell are you? That mess in the kitchenette, should we expect faeries to be poppin' out the woodwork?"

"I'm Ianto Jones, same as I ever was." Faeries popping out of the woodwork did raise another question, and Ianto quickly considered (and equally dismissed) seeking help from the faeries for their plan. Working with the faery was like herding cats and Ianto would never attempt to herd old Banshee at his father's, much less attempt to work with the faery. Like Gwen said, they didn't play fair. "My mother was the former Ms. White, my father lives in a small home in Wales with my sister and her two sons."

"That tells me absolutely nothing, you know that, right?" Owen rather peevishly pointed out.

"Of course," Ianto smirked, then licked his lips, craving a cup of coffee to melt the tensions of the day knowing full well the time to process all the events would have to wait until after his meeting with the dragons. He'd take a few weeks off, have a breakdown in a secluded cottage somewhere on the coast and return to work the calm and collected Ianto Jones, a.k.a. Mr. Black to the rest of the world. But until then, the comforting dark-roasted coffee. "Owen," Ianto leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "I understand you want to protect the team. But I am no more a threat to them than you. Perhaps less, since I'm a better driver."

"Oh, hah hah," Owen grumbled, standing with a stretch before grabbing the glass, prepared to drink after what for him must have been an exhausting conversation; Ianto couldn't remember any time when they'd actually spoken civilly (if one considered a gun aimed at the other civil) for any length of time, although Avalon might have ranked a close second.

"You might not want to drink that," Ianto warned before the glass touched Owen's lips. As much as he didn't want to admit anything which had happened with Jack, he needed Owen conscious and remembering the events of the day.

Owen smirked. "Figured. I won't hesitate to shoot you, you know. If you threaten the girls I will not stop."

Ianto stood, hefting the cross-shaped weapon to his shoulder, grinning as Owen's eyes widened a fraction. He must have remembered the damage the last time it was fired. After checking his pockets for the pebble and turning on his mobile, Ianto gestured towards the door. "If I threaten the team, I would expect nothing less."

He honestly laughed as Owen turned away and cursed all the way to Tosh's desk about overcompensation.

 

***

  
The conversations with various world leaders had gone precisely as Ianto had assumed (and feared) -- on the one hand, outrage over the dragons' audacity following the invasion of Earth, on the other, a significant curiosity and interest in their technology. Some had outright refused a dragon stepping foot on Earth's soil, much less a restricted portion of their land, others had appeared willing to compromise.

If the dragons' intent was honest, Ianto might be willing to negotiate.

However, odds were not exactly in their favor and he no longer had Jack to give him a blow job for being right.

But he wasn't going to think about Jack. He couldn't.

So they all stood around Tosh's computers, Owen throwing paper balls into a bin (missing seventy-three percent of the time), a very quiet Gwen and Rhys reading through file upon file for an answer, Tosh hadn't moved from her chair except to visit the loo, and Ianto had finally made his last call. It was approaching seven in the morning; they had been up all night (the team outright ignoring Ianto's request that they get some sleep) and were no closer to an answer or even a theory than before.

They had roughly eight hours.

Desperation had found its home.

"What if we capture the alien, take it hostage and demand they leave."

Everyone turned to Owen and stared. Ianto wondered if it was time to put on another pot of coffee, the earlier whips of heads as the ideas had grown more and more ridiculous had grown to slow stares as time had crept forward.

They were saved from responding in any fashion (acknowledging the craziness of the idea and giving it credence) when Ianto's phone rang. A quick glance at the name and number left Ianto closing his eyes in protest of what he saw and an overwhelming sadness for the conversation that was to follow. It rang again, drawing questions from the team, before he answered. "Elaine."

"Ianto."

He should move, he couldn't have this conversation in front of everyone. But at the same time, all of his coffee-fueled energy had drained from his body leaving him rooted in place, clutching his mobile like a security blanket while the others looked at each other trying to figure out the relationship of the mystery caller.

There was silence on both ends of the line. Ianto knew his responsibilities, as did Elaine. Hell, they'd lost their mother to these things and now they had a new target. What was there to say? It was so easy to pretend with the others, to put on a front (sorely being disintegrated at the moment given the call) of belief in success. That they'd find a plan. That somehow, Ianto would get out of this mess and return to the Hub to deal with the paperwork. That's how it should be. That's how Torchwood Three acted. They'd faced a similar situation before, but Jack couldn't be killed and rose days later, a veritable modern-day Lazarus.

Expect the impossible.

Rely on the unexpected and blind luck.

That was the Torchwood way.

He couldn't lie and pretend like that to his sister. She knew him better than that and not even coffee and the smell of pipe smoke could make the situation any better. She'd lost a husband and a mother to Torchwood. And now, her brother was threatened. What was he supposed to say? They had no bloody plan, he couldn't even pretend they did. He'd have to go with the dragon to a ship in orbit just this side of Jupiter and he had no fucking idea how he'd ever get back home.

What _could_ he say?

Ianto stared up at the high ceiling of the Hub, the mobile dangling in his fingertips as the stone appeared to swim, fighting against the grief of the past twenty-four hours so ruthlessly shoved aside in search for an answer to his small problem, fighting against losing the ones he loved and fighting equally as hard the need to protect the same.

Fighting. God, he was always fighting something.

Maybe the aliens truly wanted to negotiate. At which time Ianto might agree to supplying a few resources if only to get the dragons on their way. This stress and worry proving as unnecessary as sending Jack back to ... whenever he was taken. Maybe this preparation had all been for naught.

Much like the faeries, life didn't play fair. _Torchwood_ didn't play fair.

And Ianto knew that, as did his sister.

"Give Bryce and Gareth a kiss for me," Ianto finally said once he was certain his voice would hold steady. "Make sure ..." He cut himself off, not wanting to voice anything like he was giving up. He wasn't. Torchwood had an amazing track record for success in the face of improbable situations. Ianto could hear his sister's sniffles on the other line and bit back an admonishment. Bravery for Bryce and Gareth's sakes, that was just ridiculous. They understood far more than most kids their age and maybe, just maybe they'd think their uncle might be with their father. "Da' too. You know how he hates that."

Elaine's choked laughter spread warmth through his limbs, his own smile less artificial, more real in response. He could picture Elaine at this moment, standing in the kitchen with the boys outside, his father at the store, staring out the back window to his old haunts, the trees and his stone, standing so proud and solitary on the hillside. He knew because he'd seen her before, watching through the glass, towel wrung thin in her hands. She worried, he knew that, hated his career, hated his path in life and following in their mother's steps. She hated Torchwood and Avalon, she hated the alien forces.

But she loved her brother. Ianto knew that, had caught her staring at the stone so often he'd at first believed her obsessed until he realized it represented him when she could not see him, she could watch the stone and protect the memory, even if she couldn't protect her brother.

He knew she stood there now, staring out that kitchen window, watching the stone he always retreated to as a kid, watching her brother as she remembered.

"Fluffy kitties on my next birthday cake, Elle," Ianto all but whispered, his voice breaking on the reminder as it hadn't before, not in front of the team and never in front of Elaine. He was the strong one, standing tall and steady in the face of Gavin's death, not speechless and cracking as now. He was Elaine's support, not this mess he'd become. He shouldn't even be looking to her for anything, for any hint of reassurance or comfort.

But fuck if he wasn't, clutching the mobile like a lifeline, seeing her standing there at the window, towel twisted within her hands, watching out the window when he'd promised, even as a kid, standing on top of that stone that he'd protect her like a big brother ought, repeating it again after Gavin died and he'd felt the weight of guilt upon his shoulders.

Fuck if he didn't need her reassurance. That he was doing the right thing. That Stephen's death meant something and betraying Jack was worth it. Tell him that going to that ship was the right thing to do. Tell him he wasn't making a mistake.

She couldn't; he knew that. But that didn't mean he didn't want it.

"I love you so much, Ianto."

Elaine's voice sounded so close, so close he could almost smell her perfume. But Ianto knew she was at their father's, watching over the boys, far, far away from this disaster brewing in Cardiff. She'd take care of them, the boys and her father, he knew she would. If this mission were to fail, she was strong. Hell, she might even take over for him, and wouldn't that be something. She'd survive, because that was the woman she was. Strength and beauty. Grace and intelligence, a mother and a fighter. She understood and wasn't telling him not to; she understood and had called to say she loved him.

She was his sister.

"Love you too, Elle." Ianto closed his mobile before he said anything more or before Elaine could actually voice her doubts or fears. He swallowed, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth as he stared at the communications device in his hand, stating the end of the conversation and the time it took to fully speak silence.

His family was safe.

He knew they were safe.

Ianto didn't look at the others, had relatively brushed them from thought as he pushed past to walk aimlessly around the Hub, staring at the blinking numbers indicating how long it had taken to speak volumes of a lifetime spent together.

A lifetime of family in four minutes, twenty-eight seconds.

End conversation. Blinking over and over before the light finally extinguished and the reminder stopped.

Four minutes, twenty-eight seconds to quantify his love for his family.

End conversation.

End conversation.

With a curse, Ianto threw his mobile at the water tower, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as it splashed through the water and split into pieces against the metal only to drown a miserable death in the shallow pool surrounding the tower.

Shite, that might have been the last time he spoke with his sister. Had he said everything he meant? Did she know? Had he been the brother she'd wanted and needed?

He ran his hands through his hair, pacing to and fro in front of the tower, torn between confidence and doubt, a study of certain melt down if any were to be painted. Ianto knew he wasn't acting a leader; he should be rallying the team, stimulating new thoughts, new ideas, encouraging and building confidence.

Or at least acting like he wasn't going to die. That they'd have a plan.

Instead, Ianto's front had been shattered by the call he knew was coming and had been avoiding, broken and mangled the calm Torchwood One exterior that was second skin to wear. He was not cut out to do this job, he wasn't cut out to lead anyone, not if tantrums were his response to stress. He shouldn't have sent Jack away, hell, he shouldn't have allowed Stephen to continue posing as Mr. Black. And now, now he was afraid that-

That was it. Fuck, he was _scared_. Afraid of death, of meeting those dragons and what they had planned, afraid of responsibility, afraid of inaction but afraid of his actions, afraid of what could be and what had been and what was.

But most of all, afraid that he would fail everyone -- his sister, his family, his friends and team, his associates and the world at large.

"Ianto? Are you okay?"

Ianto spun at the feather-light touch on his elbow, Gwen's voice startling him from his self-recrimination. He smiled, mostly at her wary approach; she must have drawn the short straw and given their earlier encounter, he didn't imagine he was at the top of her list for small talk and platitudes. "I'm fine. I was about to put another pot on, which blend would you prefer?"

He easily read Gwen's disbelief, following her eyes to the water tower before they returned to him. Definitely the short straw.

"That was your sister, yeah?"

She could have answered the question about the coffee, that would have been the preferred line of conversation. Coffee was safe, was comforting. Was habit. "Yes, it was," Ianto finally acceded, hands braced on his hips to staunch any hints of being less than fine. He could feel the weight of the CCTV eyes on him, he knew the conversation was being watched from Tosh's desk, Owen probably watching over her shoulder with Rhys who would be ready to jump into action should his partner attempt to throttle the boss again.

He didn't need to turn and look, he knew his team.

And they apparently knew him better than he had given them credit for.

"About earlier," Gwen began, looking terribly unsure of herself but Ianto wasn't going to give her any assistance. She got to panic, she got to curse and be angry over Jack's absence, like a lover ought but he never had the opportunity to take. He was feeling rather unsympathetic at the moment. "I'm sorry. I was just ... scared, you know?"  
Ianto did know the feeling. He'd felt scared shitless since they'd first seen the ship.

"And you agreed to go with those aliens," Gwen continued, reaching out to touch him again but thinking better of it, withdrawing it to cross beneath her breasts in a way Ianto supposed others might find attractive but he just saw it as petulant. "And Jack ... Jack's the only one who could have stopped you from going."

Well, that was different.

Ianto stared at Gwen, her hair slowly regaining length over the weeks so she looked less different and more the Gwen of old. She did make some sense, in a rather narrow view of things. Jack was the only one with power over him to stop him from going; his family would never ask that of him and the rest of the team Ianto believed might try, but would ultimately fail. Jack, however ... Jack would not stand aside and watch him die. He knew she meant well, as she had with Jasmine, but sometimes things surpassed individual needs. Sometimes more was at stake.

This was definitely one of those times, no matter how much Ianto wished it wasn't. "I couldn't allow that to happen, you understand," Ianto soothed, glad for the sound of falling water to mask any awkward silence between them.

"But I don't, Ianto. They killed your mother and they killed Stephen. And you'll just willingly go with them?" Gwen stamped her foot in frustration; Ianto would have smiled if not for the severity of the conversation. "Do you want to die? Is that your plan? Tell me, Ianto, because we can arrange that here loads easier than making us watch you go off with these dragons to be killed where we can't help you."

Ianto rather assumed they intended more than just killing him, as that could have been easily accomplished on Earth, in front of everyone. But he wouldn't tell Gwen that, simply because she might actually dose his coffee with Retcon just to keep him on Earth. "I go willingly, by my choice, because it is my duty and responsibility. This is Torchwood, not games and fast chases, followed up by a trip to the pub for chips and a pint. We are the line of defense for Britain, against all the threats space and time can throw at us. Torchwood One failed because we forgot we were simply tiny little humans playing with a universe we didn't understand. If this is too big, go back to the police, Gwen, where humans get in drunken brawls over money and their wives. But don't dare question my duty, not to Torchwood, and not to Britain."

Gwen looked abashed, but resolute, raising her chin in defiance. "We just need to come up with a way to get you off that ship, then, if you're so determined to go. Steal that disc thing they brought the dragon in with and get you back."

Bloody hell, they'd been so stupid.

Ianto grinned broadly, heart thumping so fast he felt light-headed and weightless. "Gwen, you're a genius." He grabbed her shoulders on impulse and kissed her soundly, realizing after the fact that might have been improper conduct (and far more Jack than he'd like to admit) but not giving a care.

Shite, they should have thought of this long ago.

"Tosh," Ianto ordered, smiling at the dazed Gwen before running up to the desks where the others all stood in various forms of speechlessness, "bring up the reports from yesterday at the Plas. See if you can't separate the noise from the alien signal and extract whatever information you can."

"I suppose I should be angry cause that's my wife you just snogged." Rhys seemed all but angry, in fact, everyone at the work stations seemed to be having problems maintaining a straight face.

Ianto snapped his fingers at Owen, speaking over his shoulder to Rhys. "And a beautifully smart wife she is, too. Owen? Your mobile."

"You're worse than Harkness," Owen grumbled, handing Ianto the mobile. He immediately started punching in the number, Owen's eyes widening as he counted. "Oi, this conversation is being charged to Torchwood."

"All your calls are paid for by Torchwood, even those to Ginger at Fantasy Palace." Ianto smirked as Owen stammered and blushed, though denials about the phone sex line never did surface. A wary 'hello' echoed in his ear reminding Ianto of the purpose of needing the mobile, of course the number wouldn't be recognized. "Sheppard. We have a plan. How soon can you get the _Spes Nostra_ in the air?"

"Depends on what you need her for. Planning on making a run for it across the galaxy?"

Ianto snorted, skimming readouts over Tosh's shoulder. "No, we've been going about this backwards. Tosh will be sending you energy readings and signal mapping for the time we were at the Plas. They transported in. Forget about bringing down the shields, if we can mimic their device, you can get me out and drop off a bomb if negotiations fail."

Sheppard's voice grew muffled, though Ianto could distinctly hear conversation in the background. "McKay says it's an idiot plan that won't work because we're talking a completely alien system."

"You've already got similar tech on board your ship so you won't be reinventing the wheel." Ianto grabbed a set of initial numbers from the printer, he could hear Tosh talking ecstatically in the background; he assumed she had found something. "Besides, I thought you said your McKay was some kind of genius. Between him and my Tosh, I'd say we'll figure it out in the next seven hours."

Barking laughter rang in Ianto's ear, mixing with a muffled rant that Ianto couldn't quite make out, but knew it had something to do with Sheppard relaying Ianto's doubts of McKay's genius. "Send the data. We'll work out a way to pull your skinny ass out of the fire once again. And Ianto," Sheppard's voice lost all the humor from the taunts, "I'm sorry about Stephen."

Ianto clutched the phone a little tighter, smile turning brittle as he could do nothing but agree. "He was a good man. Good friend. I'll have Tosh send you the information." Ianto hung up quickly before Sheppard could say anything else and handed the mobile back to Owen who took it without a word.

There was nothing more to say.

They had seven hours, and for Ianto's sake, they had to be ready.

***

Six hours, fifty-eight minutes later, Torchwood Three strode across the Plas in a strut Ianto believed would have made Jack proud. Ianto led dressed in black, refusing to part with the small confidence wearing Stephen's clothes gave him (though he did snitch a fresh t-shirt from Jack's wardrobe). He'd showered, carefully shaved with Jack's straight-blade, dashes of memory surfacing as he remembered the one time Jack had so carefully shaved him, insisting that he could do a better job with that blade than any electric razor. Ianto wasn't so certain about the truth of that, but it had definitely been far more erotic.

Ianto's hand shook as he wanked, almost violent but definitely desperate, one hand braced on the sink, hating himself for the action as much as he couldn't shake the images and the laughter.

That had been a good night.

Slung over Ianto's shoulder was the cross-shaped weapon, such a heavy device but a comforting weight as it pressed a curve into the fine leather of the jacket. He really preferred this to the handguns strapped at his hips; made a bigger boom, a bigger dent in the sides of things that threatened him or his own.

It'd definitely make a good-sized hole in a dragon.

Or a ship.

Owen and Tosh walked a pace behind him, looking remarkably fierce, Ianto thought. It had been Tosh's idea first, racing home to change before their deadline, returning in the same gear she'd worn the night of Avalon's rescue. She'd returned and Ianto was fairly certain he'd seen Owen's jaw drop; then he collected himself, returning dressed in serious black as well, denims gone, ratty t-shirts nowhere to be seen. It'd amused Ianto, in that lull leading up to three o'clock, when the solution had been found and the tension was building. Everyone had left and returned fresh-looking and showered for the media, a fierce-look donned purely for intimidation.

Intimidation by fashion, the enemy an alien dragon. Life didn't get more ridiculous.

Rhys and Gwen brought up the rear; they'd left as well, spent a bit more time away which led Ianto to think things that he shouldn't be considering about employees. Jack had been a damned bad influence, everything was sex and passion. Though, with those two Ianto supposed it might not be far off the mark.

Ianto fought down that stubborn jealousy a little bit more.

The dragon stood at the far end of the Plas, pretty much where they'd left it nearly twenty-four hours earlier. A smaller figure stood near the dragon; Ianto assumed it was Tiffany. The voice of the alien. God, it made him sick. But a small part of him breathed a guilty sigh of relief; the dragon's presence within his mind had been horrible, if it chose to communicate through another, well, he wasn't one to argue.

He preferred his sanity and his looks in one piece, no matter the understanding shared with the Weevils.

The flashbulbs were blinding, every fraction of a step captured forever in still-frame and motion picture to be shared round the world. Ianto couldn't believe they were still there, despite the carnage of the day before, eagerly awaiting the next sound bite, the next horrifying image, the next gripping story glorifying their lives and punishing their weaknesses.

He enjoyed it better when they were the not-so-secret secret agency and could meet with aliens without requiring a press pass.

Ianto stopped a hundred yards from the dragon, turning to address something he'd forgotten to say at the Hub. Not forgotten so much as neglected, opting for a time when debate was not an option and he could say his peace without disagreement. "Owen? You're in charge while I'm gone. Take care of the team."

The surprise on Owen's face quickly shifted to resolve, a serious nod answering Ianto's request. Gwen protested that it was unnecessary, that Ianto would only be gone a short time, but as Ianto studied Owen's face, he read understanding and a visible shift. Owen had refused when Jack had left the first time, but he was ready. Ianto knew he was. More importantly, Ianto trusted him not to completely fuck up without a guiding hand.

He might fuck up a little, it was Owen Ianto was referring to after all, but not completely.

Saving himself from drawn-out goodbyes and/or speeches which would give credence to his shot nerves and rolling stomach (not to mention the response it might earn from the team. He had been concerned most about a dramatic scene with Owen, but the other man appeared relatively collected. Rather disappointing; a sniping Owen was much easier to deal with than a quiet Owen), Ianto smiled and half-bowed to the team. "Torchwood," Ianto said, more praise than acknowledgment, everything that couldn't be said spoken in the single word. They had a plan, they all knew of the plan. The plan _should_ work. But given he was traveling this side of Jupiter to chat with a bunch of aliens who most likely were engaging in some form of trap for Mr. Black, Ianto believed it wiser to say what he meant before it was possible he might never speak it.

And from the looks on their faces, Torchwood knew it too.

Displaying confidence he certainly did not feel, Ianto straightened with all the pride and arrogance Torchwood One and his mother had taught him. The cross-weapon at the ready, he adopted the Captain Jack Harkness casual-yet-dangerous stride and quickly closed the distance between Torchwood Three and the dragon.

Up close, the beast positively stank of sulfur and wet leather and looked no better in mottled puce than it had at a much safer distance. The dark espresso-roast brown of its underbelly, upon closer inspection, appeared cracked and worn with age, the scales more jagged like teeth, not because they were grown that way, Ianto surmised, but more because they'd simply broken off, like chipped, ridged fingernails left unattended and in sore need of a manicure. The warriors they had fought either must have been younger in age or kept in better care, Ianto was willing to place a wager on the former. This dragon was old, even the scaled hide near its mouth looked dull, its mottling almost like age spots on human skin; it had been perhaps beautiful in its younger years, however far back that may have been.

As Stephen used to say, the older, the wiser. Ianto consciously began reinforcing his mental shields.

"You have kept our appointment, Mr. Black," Tiffany's multi-toned voice rang out in the silence of the Plas, only the occasional cough disrupting the still. Even the birds had found better places to be at this moment than standing with a dragon. "Though typically our negotiations are performed unarmed."

Ianto looked up, the head of the dragon towering at least two stories above his own. The beast had him not only in size, but he'd seen the fire-breathers in action, and while his breath in the morning may be questionable, Ianto knew he lacked any natural defense against a creature such as this. Hence, the weapon on his shoulder, his hand strangling the device in tension and reassurance; ready to move to action should any threat be perceived. It balanced the game, the weapon did, a fire-breathing dragon versus a man with a fire-blasting gun. "You're taller," Ianto drawled as the dragon's head tilted down so the alien could look him in the eye, "I'm compensating."

He swore the rumble he heard roll down the throat of the alien to spread across its belly might have been laughter, another one of those cross-species languages which needed no translation. Ianto had no time to think otherwise as he stepped right next to the beast, hopefully within range of the device which would transport them to the dragon's ship. He turned to look at team Torchwood, standing with weapons drawn and guarding Ianto for what it was worth, before the world around him fractured and dissolved into nothing.

***

The trip was not unlike transportation with Sheppard's device; leaving Ianto slightly disorientated before the floor solidified and felt real beneath his feet. He cautiously sniffed the air, belatedly realizing he should have questioned whether the atmospheric conditions on board the ship would adequately meet a human's needs, but as this was his first venture off Earth, he supposed he was allowed a few mistakes.

He just hoped they were all as minor as this.

The air was stale, tasting slightly metallic but overall seemed breathable as he wasn't growing light-headed or experiencing symptoms of hypoxia. There was a pervasive odor of sulfur, one which tickled the edges of a headache, encouraging its development. Ianto shoved the notion aside, he had no time for headaches. No patience, either.

After reassuring himself that he wouldn't suffocate on-board the dragons' ship, Ianto truly looked around him for the first time. His first impression was 'Fuck. Me.' followed immediately by 'Tosh would be so jealous.' The ship was massive, even from just the single room Ianto saw. Cavernous, might be a better description, Ianto noted as he catalogued the details. The floor and walls were stone-like in appearance, all jagged and chipped edges, shining like polished obsidian. All the doorways were curved, stretching at least thirty feet above his head and appeared to be doorless, though Ianto couldn't be certain if that was merely by design for the room or if the entire ship lacked doors. He calculated the size and shape of the room, estimating it to be similar in size as the main room of the Hub, only this was certainly just one of many rooms given the size of the ship generated by Torchwood's computers.

He was impressed, until he remembered the ship housed dragons, which would explain the overall generous size of the ship.

There were odd indentations in the walls at patterned intervals. The reason why escaped Ianto, knowing nothing about the culture, or even if this was their ship and not one they'd commandeered from another alien species. He even questioned whether he could call it a ship or not, as for all appearances it looked like a hollowed-out asteroid. Maybe the properties of the stone assisted flight of this massive vessel, an explanation how the dragons could move a mass that far and fast despite limits of known physics. Foreign elements, different math and science, a universe of unexplored possibilities Earth had never before seen to even begin considering.

Scattered about, however, was tech, the panels and displays so far above his head he would need rock climbing gear to reach, limiting his options for any sort of escape via hijacking of the ship, one of Tosh's solutions. Overall he felt ... small ... Alice through the looking glass and trapped in a giant world in which he had no place. The tech, though some at towering heights, appeared relatively human-sized, though some of it was really a mash of appearances. He'd only suggested the idea that they could be scavengers to send the team on a goose-chase, however, he may not have been far off the mark. None of the technology he could see fit the design or class of the disk which had transported the three of them to the ship. Some of the panels in the wall looked antiquated compared to the shiny new-ness of other tech, some appeared almost familiar, and others looked completely and literally alien.

Aesthetically, the decor clashed and was definitely not feng-shui. There wasn't even a plant to be seen.

"I trust my ship meets your standards, Mr. Black."

"It is impressive," Ianto agreed, uncertain if the killing was to begin now or maybe they'd invite him to tea before making threats to his person. He continued looking about, assuming he was in an interior room as there were no windows. Whether there would be windows he wasn't sure; the technology needed for either atmospheric shields or clear paneling that could withstand space travel was complex in the least, although any ship with force shields of the strength of this ship's more than likely possessed the science to create viewing surfaces of the outside.

Unnerving as it was, Ianto wanted to see where he was, the space he was in.

He was currently closer to Jupiter than any human from Earth his century had ever been. He wanted to remember the moment with more than just the visuals of a puce-colored dragon.

"Come, this way."

Tiffany and the dragon turned and exited out one of the doors to his left, leaving Ianto at a slight disadvantage. He hated following like a lost puppy to a kind stranger, but his only other options were to remain in the room or exit out another door, becoming lost or encountering dragons more inclined to eat him upon first sight.

He followed, for lack of a more successful alternate plan.

The floor out of the room was a broad stretch of stone, more than the width of two dragons with sides dropping off to a vast open shaft. Ianto stopped a moment to get his bearings, not trusting himself to maintain balance looking up while walking along what appeared to be an arched causeway. Because up ... up was incredible. 'Up' appeared to stretch for miles, an enormous lit hollow criss-crossed with occasional walkways. Dark doorways speckled the shaft, entrances into deeper recesses of the ship, he assumed, he lost count of the doorways after his estimates entered the thousands. And as he watched, some of the entrances seemed to expand like growing shadows, until the black separated off to become its own entity.

Its own dragon.

Ianto's eyes strained to distinguish them, but eventually his mind caught up with what he was viewing. Dragons. Thousands of dragons, flying from rooms in dizzying formation, diving down through the tunnel past the walkway he was currently on, swooping up in a rush of air as others scaled the heights. Like a shopping mall viewed from a height, people milling about in all directions, rushing about up and down escalators, racing from store to store, a chaotic mass of bodies shifting from place to place.

It didn't take long for Ianto to become extremely off-balanced. The idea that artificial gravity could be accomplishing this while the ship was technically upside-down did not help Ianto's sense of location.

"It helps if you don't look down. Or up for that matter." Tiffany's voice at his side surprised him, partially due to the fact that it was actually Tiffany's voice, not the dragon's, speaking to him. With a quick nod as he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her but the advice was relatively sound, Ianto focused on the path in front of him, quickly catching up to the dragon which had brought him to the ship.

It didn't escape his notice that other dragons arrived as well, trailing behind the trio but breathing so loud Ianto felt like they were just over his shoulder.

Tiffany struggled with the walk, her hand going to the bandage at her side as her breathing grew more labored with the fast pace the humans walked in comparison to the casual stroll the dragon seemed to be enjoying. Ianto ignored it for as long as he could, his anger still bubbling beneath the surface in regards to her responsibility for the death of his mother and others at Avalon, but eventually, when they did not appear to be nearing their destination, he cursed everything from the dragons to idiot children of mad men.

"Some courtesy, please," Ianto bellowed at the dragon in front of him, stopping to assist Tiffany. His skin crawled despite the layers of leather and cotton as he braced her against his side, supporting part of her weight as they continued walking. The dragon in front of them turned to watch their progress, slowing its pace to better accommodate theirs.

That didn't slow the dragons behind them, Ianto noted, their clawed feet clicking their progress on the stone causeway.

Ianto wondered why the aliens walked at all, but then took into account their giant wingspans. While flying might carry them faster from one place to the next, depending on the number of dragons living in this rock, air collisions were a threat.

Or, again, maybe they didn't build this ship and had stolen it from another race who did need to walk.

They arrived at a large room after what felt like hours, but could only have been minutes. Almost immediately, Ianto released Tiffany, refusing to touch her any longer than necessary. Unless it involved throttling and then he might be willing to make an exception, no matter how cruel a person it made him.

The room was huge, eclipsing the one they had transported into by at least a magnitude of three, with an array of levels scattered like a layered waterfall of stone with platforms and cascades of well-worn steps etched into the gleaming stone. At the different levels were dragons of all shapes and colors, though a vast majority were relatively small and in varying degrees of blue shades, some teal, some royal blue, others almost violet but all blue. Crewmen, Ianto surmised, raising new questions about the culture of the creatures and how they were bred if scale-color determined position and authority.

He was momentarily distracted by the sheer number of panels and instruments on each level, what appeared to be massive keyboard and input systems as well as maybe diagnostics and control displays? Ianto assumed they were on the bridge, if there was one on this ship. He couldn't help himself from turning about, taking in the sights and sounds, freezing in place as his carefully controlled exterior finally melted into one of what he assumed must be awe.

It was absolutely beautiful.

An entire side of the bridge was just ... gone. No glass or clear paneling that he could see, just an open hole in the side of the ship, floor to ceiling, like one of those eerily real street chalk drawings where it looks like one would fall into a hole but in reality was just a picture. But this wasn't a painted mural, it wasn't a picture or a snapshot.

It was space.

Lots and lots of space.

Ianto had never seen anything quite like this before, not even the momentary view of Earth he had seen from Sheppard's ship. At the time, he hadn't had the conscious thought to really absorb what he saw, too concerned with the safety of his team and Cardiff to spend wasted on gazing out the window.

This view, however, Ianto felt like he could just ... fall out of if he stepped too close to the edge. Thousands of stars dotted the vast black of space, appearing to twinkle in the vacuum as cosmic mirages fooled his eyes. The brilliant curve of Jupiter graced the far left side, swirling orange and reds looking more vivid and angry than any photograph captured by satellite or telescope. It appeared small, taking up no more than a fourth of the height of the open area, but Ianto felt like he could all but reach out and touch the planet.

But small was nothing in comparison to the shining point in the center of the view area.

 _Earth._

Ianto knew it was Earth, for logical reasons as well as the blown up image he assumed was real-time, a marbled blue-green-brown-white sphere superimposed on the view area next to it. Alien symbols scrolled in what must have been data gathered by the dragons' sensors, though what it said Ianto hadn't the faintest idea.

He returned his focus to the dot, looking so small and so far away it was hard to believe that was his home. That was his _planet_ ; his family was somewhere on that dot of light, possibly watching the heavens for a dot of light signifying the ship he was on, watching down on them. His team, Torchwood, Avalon, god, six billion people were on that tiny little speck.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Tiffany purred next to him, the octaves blending together in her speech signifying that Ianto was once again speaking with the dragon, not the girl, and serving to remind him of the danger he was in. "And so helpless."

Ianto spun to face the puce-colored dragon as a deep rumble was echoed across the cavern. It was the same rumble he'd heard earlier: the dragons were ... laughing. He drew his weapon from his shoulder, aiming it at the puce-dragon who Ianto assumed was some kind of leader aboard the ship as he had yet to see any other who reflected a similar age or authority. "We are anything but helpless."

Again the dragon laughed, the amusement repeated by Tiffany who strolled into view, standing between Ianto and the dragon. "And this is how you begin negotiations on Earth? Your actions are on display for all to see. It would be horrible for the saviour of the humans to display such open hostility when invited as guest aboard a ship, is it not?"

Ianto didn't move, though the name made him flinch. He remembered the broadcast of Michael and the Weevil, breaking through all communications devices and once more cursed the dragon-kind for making this conversation known to the world. His eyes darted about, looking for any kind of recording device, locating what appeared to be a camera, though it appeared far more crystalline in appearance.

He wondered, briefly, if there was a time delay in the relay to Earth and if there wasn't, how exactly that was accomplished.

"You'll pardon me if I don't entirely trust a race which so openly attacked my planet and my people." Ianto replied with equal casualness, focusing his attention once again on the dragon, hand on the trigger of the weapon, itching to pull it and blast the dragon (and the ship) from there to kingdom come, but refraining, if only to continue the plan.

After all, the broadcast made it easier to complete.

"Then it should come at no surprise that you are not trusted as well."

Ianto had never wondered what it would feel like, never stopped to ponder what the sensation would be if one's lungs were ripped from their chest, but as he was driven to his knees he knew without doubt it was something he'd never have to imagine. Fuck, if the shock hadn't made him collapse the pain would have, clawing at his chest, shredding every breath he tried to take but he knew, he somehow knew in the haze of pain that it wasn't his chest, it wasn't even physical. He knew he could still breathe and his lungs were still functioning. He knew but his mind still deflected, protecting itself from acknowledgement of the attack. He knew it was an attack, he was aware as his ears registered a hoarse cry that did not sound as though it came from a dragon.

Him.  
   
God, it was him.

The pain wasn't in his chest, though the initial impact felt like it shattered bone and separated limbs. Fuck, his mind bent and bowed at the pressuring black, the sensation of malevolence so oppressing it threatened to collapse every barrier. Which was what the dragons intended, Ianto knew. He understood that much as his hands clutched his temples as though to block the probing mind, minds.

Plural. Multiple attacks combined in effort.

Fuck it hurt, black talons tearing at his mind.

  


  
_Long, in vale of fog and mist ..._   


  


  
The TARDIS had barely settled, the whirring sounds of activity still singing her arrival, before Jack burst out of the door, skidding to a halt to get his bearings.

Earth. Cardiff. Plas Roald Dahl. Late-afternoon and winter for all it was cold and dreary, from the clothing fashion of the masses huddled off to the side it was about the time period he left.

Fury shook his hands as stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. Seven days. It had taken seven days just for the Doctor to get up his nerve. "Doctor!" Jack yelled, turning back to the blue Police Box in the middle of the Plas.

Martha Jones exited first, Jack rather liked her for all her spirited femininity, part warrior, part innocence, definitely all beautiful woman. Reminded him of a woman he once knew back at the Agency, a woman if he didn't know was already dead he'd search for her and kill her himself for her involvement. The thought made him glare at the Doctor, hands in his pockets as he waltzed out of the TARDIS like he hadn't a care in the world.

He ought to care. Jack was half tempted to strangle him as well for the secrets he had hidden, the past he'd pretended to not know. If it weren't that the bastard could just regenerate and continue living, Jack would have acted without remorse.

Two years of his memory. The fucker had wiped _two years_.

Calm settled over Jack as he strode towards the first group of people he saw. Always innately curious, he wondered about the commotion, typically the Plas wasn't this popular except for nights of a good show at the Millennium Centre, but it was far from night time and in late afternoon, a crowd only meant trouble.

Lights flashed as he approached, his coat swirling about his ankles as he walked, presenting a striking picture if there ever was to be one taken of Captain Jack Harkness. He smiled, though he wasn't sure it was a kind smile.

Didn't really care.

A few of the group looked familiar, though their attire raised his eyebrows. They'd never dressed like that for him; though he now remembered seeing Tosh where the same outfit when he was rescued from that pit of torture Torchwood Four had liked to refer to as their Archives. They'd been good, but he'd doled out worse in his past, not that he'd ever admit that to Torchwood Four. Kramer did well enough on his own.

He didn't think of Ianto dying in his arms. He refused to remember ever saying "I love you" to the man, whether he meant it or not. Thinking so just brought the fury back, and he smiled a wolfish grin at the backs of his team. "Hey kids. Where's Ianto?" Jack asked in the most innocent, carefree voice he could manage.

Four figures jumped in comical surprise. Really, he'd taught the team better than that, they should have had at least one person watching their six. Gwen shrieked, the sound making him cringe but she didn't advance like she had during the time he now remembered, maintaining instead a careful distance.

"Is it really you, Jack?" Tosh asked, her voice small and scared.

Jack couldn't be bothered to find out why. "Where is Ianto?" He asked again, smiling sweetly and carefully enunciating his question so there could be no mistake, his honed American accent pristine if not slightly overdone.

Tosh looked at Owen, and something about the look on their faces drove the fury from Jack so quickly it left him breathless. They turned, pointing to the screens they had been watching, media vans, all keyed into the same signal.

Jack stared as Owen spoke. "They found out about the plan almost immediately, chased off Sheppard's ship before the crew could get a lock on his signal." Owen paused, clearing his throat while Jack just watched, Ianto's face covered in a sheen of sweat, his whole body violently shaking as a voice spoke in the background, telling of its delight, telling of the joy it would feel destroying Earth and knowing Mr. Black had witnessed the destruction as he had organized the destruction of their kind.

Telling how it found pleasure breaking him.

"We don't know if they're waiting to destroy Earth before or after they ..." Owen cut himself off, waving a hand at the screen. "He's been giving up things for a while now, his birthday and age, though how the bloody he's done what he's done at thirty ..." Owen shook his head and continued while Jack watched the blood began trickling from Ianto's nose, stress or damage, Jack wasn't certain. "Access codes to the Hub, his mum's true name-"

"What is he protecting?" Jack interrupted, uncrossing his arms to point at the screen. "He's protecting something. That information is useless. What's the other plan?"

Owen looked to Tosh and back to Jack, shrugging. "We only had the one plan. Use their transportation frequency to plant explosives on the ship and get him out. Went balls up once Sheppard's ship was discovered. He had some arms on him, but don't reckon he's capable right now of shooting that old weapon you used on the ship in the bay."

Jack felt fingers of fear crawl down his spine as Ianto suddenly focused on the camera, his eyes clearing to a startling crystal blue. If he weren't immortal, Jack knew the frantic pace of his heart would kill him. "Doctor!"

  


  
_The spirit in sopor lives ..._   


  


  
Ianto huffed air through his mouth, trying to regain footing within his own mind without retching from the pain. Or passing out as the attacks grew, countless attacks, fuck, how many and how long could he fight them off?

Too much to protect. Too much. Fuck, too much. The plan ...

Laughter filled his ears as he felt a bubble burst in his mind, black tar oozing over the thought, ensnaring it, capturing it.

Devouring it.

"A plan, do you?" Tiffany's laughter mocked him, cackling as a dragon roared what had to be emphasis on an order or a thought or a plan. God, the plan. "It's failed, Mr. Black. We've targeted the ship now, the _Spes Nostra_ wasn't it? And altered our shields. There will be no plan, Mr. Black."

As quickly as his struggling mind could manage once he was aware what was happening, Ianto buried himself deep within his own mind, sinking himself away from the surface as he could. Deep, where victims of violence and those who witnessed horrible things hid, that safety net disconnecting them from the experience, where they could protect themselves if not their bodies.

A safe place, buried within layers of memory and thought, sought after by Buddhists and yogi alike, a tranquil place, peace borne of meditation, solace and examination of one's self. Transcendence, they called it, buried beyond layers, carefully crafted to sacrifice the least important to the minds of the dragons.

Let them think they won their victory.

"We will win, Mr. Black. And you will watch as we destroy your Earth." Ianto felt a hand tilt his face towards the open wall, the screen where Earth gleamed a pinprick of light and magnified to marbled brilliance. He could hardly see it, but he knew Earth was there. "A fitting end, don't you think? Watch the world crumble which you united to protect. Those were our kin." Tiffany growled, though Ianto hardly thought that they were any brethren of her, the human's. "We will obliterate it, erase it from time. All those little people, all that history, all that future. Gone."

Tiffany's laughter made Ianto flinch, trying to escape her hand but only drawing the dragon's attention, Tiffany's fingernails digging into his jaw, holding him still. His hands flailed in protest, weakly pushing at her hand, her body, anything he could touch and the dragons' roared behind him but it worked.

Distraction.

Deep within his mind, Ianto planned, smiling when he could not physically smile.

The device was small, flat, pebble-like. Probably why it was missed when his weapons were stripped after falling to the floor. Fit small within his hand, a tiny, innocuous blue-tinged skipping stone he'd stuck in his pocket ages ago in Jack's office.

Arm ... he had to arm ...

Ianto felt another wall pop, could almost visually see it go, a dam cracking under pressure. "Ah, you are young, Mr. Black. Just a fledgling attempting to do an adult's job. Born March 28th, 1978 to a Viviene, is it? That makes you a child." Tiffany's nails scored his skin, digging painfully deep into his jaw but he almost welcomed the distraction from the chaos of his mind. "I will enjoy breaking you, once Earth has been destroyed. You and all your precious secrets."

He would have liked to clarify the dragon's statements, as it wasn't only that dragon's mind battering his -- that he could have withstood, a single attack. Had, in fact. But he couldn't, his fingers curling around the flat pebble in his hand, slowly flipping a corner of the device. The weight of the minds battering his crushed the ability to speak, he could remember speaking once, the tongue sounding so foreign to his ears but he knew he had.  
   
Once.

Another dam burst. Ianto was fairly certain he cried. Not great sobs, that would require focus beyond the skipping stone, that would have required him to feel beyond the barriers of his mind but he couldn't, not for lack of tears streaming down his face while his body trembled at the force being used.

"Torchwood Three access codes!" Tiffany sang with glee, Ianto felt her smearing the blood on his chin but he brushed the thought aside, washing it away with all the other trivial thoughts which flowed past, mere ripples in the calm pond. Ripples. Skipping stones.

He flipped another edge, spinning the corners in its specific code.

A code he remembered, beneath river and sand, buried deep in corners of his mind of which he had no knowledge.

Buried deep whereupon he found himself.

Tiffany laughed as the dragons roared, barriers and walls falling quicker than he could protect. Memories of Lisa camping, of Stephen training him to fence, his mother teaching him manners, Jack kissing him, bringing him back to life. The more that fell to the sickening slime that ate its way through his mind, the more he fought, stress and resistance pulling his muscles taunt, splintering and pulling at his mind until even his toes curled in protest of the invasion, feeding strength through sheer desperation than by any physical help.

"We are arming our weapon now. Say goodbye to your pretty little world, Mr. Black. Smile, the world watches your failure. Earth. Is. Lost."

The last corner flipped.

Ianto raised his head, independent of Tiffany's hand, deep calm and acceptance brushing aside the dragon minds with casual thought. His gaze fell on the camera, knowing Earth watched, Earth _feared_ as the threats of complete annihilation filtered through to any and all listening. He didn't doubt the dragons, he was sure they'd scavenged technology across space and time which would permit such an action, such ultimate destruction as to erase a world from both time and space.

Most likely illegal in any galaxy, which left him with no remorse for his actions and little doubt for the purpose of bringing him to the ship.

"No," Ianto stated clearly, smiling as he stood. The dragons roared in a panic around him; Tiffany screamed in his ear as her hands clawed at him in an action more apt to taloned dragon claws, not human nails. This wasn't supposed to happen. This went contrary to their plans.

But it was his plans, his family, it was the six billion people on earth and Jack who floated sometime in-between. It was his love for his people, his love for his family, the love for all that were and that were to be, unborn yet cherished in the eons of Earth from beginning to end. It was his love for Jack, born three thousand years from now to live in yesterday.

It was his choice.

"No," Ianto repeated, standing tall as he felt the wind whip at his back, the smile broad upon his face. "Earth lives."

  


  
_In time r'turns, with love combine ..._   


  


  
"Doctor!" Jack desperately grabbed at the man's jacket, manhandling him away from the screens, away from Ianto whose eyes burned so fiercely blue Jack could feel him staring into his soul. "Get me up there now! We still have time!"

"Jack?" Owen's voice pulled him away from the struggle trying to get the Doctor in the TARDIS, more easily said than done as the Doctor was a most wily character and slipped out of his grasp while Jack was distracted.

Distracted in time to catch the radiance of Ianto's smile, the certainty by which he spoke.

"Earth lives."

Ianto's beautiful smile.

The screens switched harshly to static, black and white snow racing across and down and every scattered direction as the signal was lost. Jack fought around that conscious thought; a signal lost meant nothing, meant absolutely nothing.

Meant nothing. Nothing until the heavens paused, the world stilled as though by a mighty hand, waiting, waiting on the edge of something. Something ... something erupted into flame, a fireball so brilliant it dimmed the sun as it went from pinprick to shattered light streaking across the skyline, shooting lengthwise to span its touch across the horizon.  
   
No.

 _No._

"Take me back!" Jack shouted as he wrapped his hands in the Doctor's jacket, twisting them until they lifted the man off the ground, slamming him into the TARDIS. He felt Martha beside him, maybe the rest of the team too, but they would not stop him. "This is the wrong time! Take me back. I can still save him." His voice cracked, pitching up far sharper than anything he ever spoke but it didn't matter, none of it did.

He didn't remember a time when he had heard those same words spoken, didn't consider the time when Ianto had plead with tears in his eyes, calling him a monster.

Jack didn't think about the denial he had given.

Calm eyes stared back into his, despite trainers dangling as he was forcibly held against the TARDIS. "I can't do that, Jack." The Doctor said with regret, holding aloft a slip of paper which bore a script Jack instantly recognized.

Dropping the Doctor, Jack grabbed the slip of paper: a requisition slip dated just days ago but frail with age. Hands trembling, Jack smoothed his thumb over the hasty scrawl.

 _Doctor,  
Captain Jack Harkness will find you following his battle with Abbadon.  
Protect this as you would your kin until then.  
15:15, December 31st, 2008  
I love him.  
In your debt,  
Ianto Jones_

Jack's hand shook, dropping the paper which Martha quickly retrieved before it could blow away. Of course the Doctor couldn't go back. Not after directed and such a small jump.  He'd cross timelines or something universe-shattering. Hell, Jack doubted the TARDIS would even take him back, just fifteen minutes, thirty at the most, a skip in the pond as ripples swam about him. It was nothing, fifteen minutes.

And yet Ianto had asked for it. Asked the Doctor for it. Probably because he knew Jack better than Jack knew himself.

Fuck.

"Fuck!" Jack echoed, shouting at the skies which served no purpose other than to release whatever it was that he couldn't feel. He shouldn't. Not if he were immortal, living the span of many Iantos. Iantos would come and go and he would live on.

Iantos wouldn't.

Ianto couldn't.

 _"Forever,"_ Jack had told Elaine, curled up against Ianto while he slept, holding him tight after nightmares had plagued him, promising Ianto while he slept, _"I'm with you, I am always with you, on every curve and coil."_

Forever.

Jack stared up at the sky, ignoring the weeping of those around him and settling for the cold comfort of grief to wrap around himself, solitary, standing alone against the sky until the atmosphere burst into flares of light, fragments of ship the size of a moon bidding farewell as the sun sank to slumber.

 _"I won't let you go."_

Choking back a sob, muffled against the greatcoat Ianto had loved so much, Jack wept in time with the falling of the heavens, for promises failed and the forever never lived.

  


  
_Chasing time to save victory, sorrow rains while light doth shine._   


  



	9. Shades of Ianto

So many people.

Jack stared out over the city of Cardiff from his perch on the rooftop of the Millennium Centre, his home for the sunset. He couldn't feel his nose, his ears, or his cheekbones, but he'd long forgotten about the dull ache, letting it blow away in the wind with everything else. Light was quickly falling, leading in the night with icy fingers; Jack closed his eyes and turned his face into the wind, any remaining tear tracks freezing to brittle spun sugar pulling his skin.

At the memorial, there had been too many people watching, too many people _needing_. But up here, on the rooftop overlooking the city, he was alone. Here it was that he indulged in a few private moments of personal sorrow. Perhaps a few more than a few moments, but he was no longer counting, just existing, breathing in the now and not thinking of who wasn't with him to steal the warmth of his greatcoat.

So many people.

It was supposed to have been small: family, Torchwood, a few from Avalon. Jack had prepared for small. He was only supposed to speak for small. _"Just a few words,"_ Gwen had said. _"You knew him best."_

Gwen was wrong; he didn't know Ianto best. None of them did. Once he'd thought he understood the man. Just as he'd thought he'd gotten a grasp on the mind behind the mask, Ianto changed again, another splash of color buried beneath coal black suits and patterned ties.

He'd spoken, but said little. He'd said what everyone knew, what everyone had known, about Ianto.

Everyone. Fuck, so many people. And each had greeted him, one by one after the memorial, drawn for some reason to him like moths a flame. They didn't burn though, or perhaps he was the moth, flying towards so many lit candles, soaking up the warmth from every group, every collection of memories.

The place had been rich with memories.

Not his, but every single person who had ever known Ianto, and even then, some who hadn't, who'd somehow come across the information and shown up uninvited but not turned away to _Lana's_. Maybe holding it at a club eliminated it from being a technical 'memorial' service. A wake, then. Jack had been to plenty of wakes. It had been early in the morning, not too early for drinks, but then, a wake without alcohol was like a dragon without scales.

And it was well documented just how many scales a dragon had.

So many people.

 _Lana's_ had filled early; Lana herself had pulled some strings, got a few of the neighboring businesses to open for overflow until there was room at her club for the next batch. Someone (Jack assumed it had been Tosh) had set up a live-feed, capturing all the going ons at the club and transmitting the pictures to the overflow buildings. And the stories hadn't stopped, not for hours while Jack stood with a seemingly unending drink beside him to wet his throat, listening to every person that came up to him and encouraging others to speak when all they did was stare or hug.

It wasn't a surprise that Avalon showed. It had surprised Jack that _all_ of Avalon showed. Lots of graduates, from all across the globe, remembering Ianto from their school days; current students remembering the man Ianto had become. Hundreds of stories, of the trouble he'd caused with Jean-Luc, of always excelling ahead of the gifted students despite his lack of gift, of playing card games with the kids after the attack and letting them win. What frightened Jack to stillness was their _knowledge_.  They _knew_ Ianto, felt connected to him in a personal way Jack couldn't understand -- not until a young boy explained in quiet German that they had all been with Jean-Luc during the attack and they'd touched Ianto.  That made him like a brother to them all.

Jack had taken the boy in his arms and hugged him until the boy giggled, weaseling out to tumble with the other kids. Even now, standing on the roof in the freezing wind, Jack could feel the boy's laughter warming him, watching as he ran off to play with the kids, a small connection to Ianto. All of them were. Living, breathing connections, sharing a tiny piece of his spirit that Jack clung to when the world did its best to strip it away. He made a promise to himself, standing tall on the Millennium Centre, to keep track of those kids, of all of Avalon. He wouldn't obsess, but he'd just make sure they were all taken care of. It was the least he could do, or maybe it was the only thing he could do.

The stories didn't stop after Avalon passed. As the Avalon crowd dwindled (and Jack had never realized there were so many), armed security, mismatched to different agencies but efficient, cleared the immediate area around the bar, making Jack wish he'd perhaps drunk a little less than he had given the polite conversation he assumed was coming.  Various British and foreign dignitaries or their representatives passed their condolences, talking about their first contacts with Mr. Black or sharing their gratitude. Jack was pretty sure he'd bowed to people he shouldn't have and might have accidentally groped the French President (he'd been honestly reaching for his drink), but he hadn't been expecting politicians and he'd always left dealing with them to Ianto. Plus, today he wasn't particularly feeling like turning on the Harkness charm.

As if they were standing in queue, the international Torchwood-like groups came next, chatting with the representatives they knew and approaching Jack like they were long-lost brothers or sisters sharing their grief over a passing family member. Perhaps, in a way they were, sheltered and hidden from the rest of the world for so long, practicing their protection in secret, building close bonds among the team which defied most groups. But Torchwood, they were alike. They knew and had believed the same things the international groups had, the same things scorned by billions and decried as madness.

And, Jack remembered, some of these groups had lost many of their own when the dragons had first attacked. Perhaps a kinship. And as Jack received yet another tearful hug, full of more stories of their relief when Mr. Black had contacted them, a figure from the 'outside,' proving that they weren't crazy or that the devices they had found really were alien, supporting their work and acknowledging what they had done for their country, he found himself making promises he wasn't sure he could keep, but felt overwhelmingly determined not to let those relationships slide.

Except for Sheppard, who just insolently drawled as he leaned against the bar that Mr. Black would be missed, a brave man and a damned fine kisser. The tall man with dreds (Jack remembered him, name was Ronon, fine gun) just laughed and made some comment about a McKay and Kirk. Jack would have commented but was too busy fighting the impulse to slug Sheppard ... or maybe kiss him just to see if he still tasted of Ianto.

Impossible, but sometimes Jack wondered if he hadn't spent the day just shy of rational.

Jack had grabbed a stool between Tosh and Elaine by the time the remains of Torchwood One had quite literally piled on him and Torchwood Three. It was almost uncomfortable at first. Jack wasn't sure what to say, and the others of Torchwood Three had no idea who the group was. This was a group who had seen death and destruction on a scale few else in the room had, excluding Jack and quite possibly Sheppard and Ronon. And ... they were the survivors. _The_ Survivors Club. Ianto had been a member but Jack had never known who they were, really, much less the kind of relationship he had with the remaining few of Torchwood One. He resisted the urge to offer his own condolences for their losses, instead waited quietly as the group gave him, Torchwood Three, Elaine, and Lana the eye. _"Oh, he was right,"_ one of the women began, speaking to another in the group. _"Jack in scuba gear would be divine."_

That set the tone for the rest of the conversation, as Jack felt himself pulled into laughter, whether he wished it or not. It was contagious, their apparent reaction to any situation. Not uncommon; Jack had seen it before, but it'd been a long time since he'd experienced such expression of life in face of death. The Survivors Club was an extremely tactile group, setting Jack a bit on edge, but it was hard to resist the joviality after so much serious before. Even Owen began to smile after a particularly lewd anecdote from one of the women about Ianto, Lisa, a Torchwood One Christmas party dance, and spiked punch. They didn't know him much from his days at Torchwood One. ( _"bunch of secretive no-good posh braniacs hiding in their gilded tower beneath so many layers of security it'd take years to find a zipper, much less strip 'em out of their suits for a proper shag."_ The group had agreed with the woman before she'd amended _"but not our dear Ianto. He was the nicest of the lot. Never took on airs of the elite like the rest of 'em."_ )

Tosh had fallen off her stool at that point with a squeak; Jack laughed into the wind as he remembered her surprise at Ianto's former occupation, though why it should have come as such a surprise, Jack wasn't sure. Owen had known, though how he'd known was beyond Jack. He hadn't thought the two were confidants, but maybe there'd been some shared understanding; Owen wasn't as crass and ignorant as he might pretend. Quite the defense; Jack had used a similar rouse back in the day, worked well when people underestimated based on first impressions.

And had Jack ever been wrong about the Survivors Club. He'd feared more weeping and wailing, another member lost. But while there was sorrow behind their eyes, their entertaining praise of the life of Ianto Jones was heartening. They had their stories of Ianto that Jack had never heard: of reuniting with the group, of their day spent drinking and reminiscing on the anniversary of the battle of Canary Wharf, of their delight at their reenlistment and their assistance to Ianto in the dragon attack, and of their adoration for the man who was 'one of them.'

They had all absorbed it like a sponge, all of Torchwood Three. The Survivors Club was more of a legendary hero to Tosh and Owen; Gwen and Rhys had no preconceived notions, but they were an impressive bunch, battered and broken as they were, re-pieced together by some indestructible fragment of human spirit. Jack believed it had been an honor for them to come, to share their memories of Ianto.

And in Ianto's honor, they had.

Torchwood London left, retreating to a far corner of Lana's club with a few bottles of alcohol. Lana didn't even argue and actually called one of her barmen to bring a few more up from the cellar. She had only smiled at Jack's querying eyebrow, raised at the names being rattled off, old names and old years, and politely informed him that it was her club and she could serve whatever to whomever she pleased, before promptly plopping a glass of water in front of Jack.

It took Jack begging through conversations with the owner of the local coffee bean supplier from whom Ianto had purchased all his magnificent blends and the various local merchants Ianto preferred for Torchwood business (and dinners) before Lana finally relented and returned his glass of whisky.

Jack had thought once the merchants and various stragglers from others groups of individuals who'd either known Ianto in a passing fashion or were just there to offer condolences (and more than one who just wanted to see the infamous Torchwood) had all passed, that it was done. He felt worn thin by the day, stretched over so many surfaces that he didn't have the capacity for more talking, more listening, and was sorely wishing to escape to a private place where he could mourn alone. He'd hardly had time since his return. First there was a rather intense and awkward goodbye with the Doctor (not Martha, Martha had been sympathetic and understanding to a fault) almost immediately after arriving, then explaining his absence, doing his best to comfort the team, and talking with Ianto's family -- they had seen just like the rest of the world, but Jack had felt responsible to call as well.

He'd never been alone, not for one moment. And he was looking forward to at least an afternoon and evening. Not to sleep, no he couldn't remotely consider sleeping. Just to simply be.

But more came. So many people.

After the people he'd remotely recognized had passed through, hundreds more seemed to pour through the doors of _Lana's_ , hundreds that Jack didn't recognize, and from the confused faces on the others' faces, hundreds they didn't recognize either. Jack presumed they'd been in one of the overflow businesses, probably passed some kind of message that the queue had opened for them. And join the queue they did, a blended group of the old and young, men and women, business dressed and gothic punk. He'd never seen such an eclectic group, and he hadn't been mistaken when they did in fact number in the hundreds.

The first woman who approached him, a child of about six or seven clinging to her hand with enormous blue eyes and a shock of dark hair, sent the first irrational wave of panic that maybe Ianto had a kid Jack didn't know about. The woman's soft greeting and identification had left Jack struggling to breathe as he looked over her shoulder at all the people standing behind her and he couldn't deny the tears prickling annoyingly at his eyes.

These were the families of Torchwood One's victims. Every single family and relation who remembered Ianto from their own loved ones' memorials, services, and wakes, who were determined to share the same compassion he had shown their families. Introduction after introduction -- Jack wouldn't remember any of their names but he'd remember their simple hugs or hand shakes, their repetitions of the words spoken by Ianto, words of praise for their duty and the honor of their work, their dedication to Britain and the sorrow for their loss. One woman in particular introduced herself as the nurse who had helped Ianto, Stephen, and Jean-Luc escape the London hospital when they had sought aide for their injuries. She thanked whomever it had been for returning her vehicle more clean than when she had purchased it and handed Jack a cap, saying he could keep it; she hadn't let anyone else wear it anyway.

Gwen had fled to the loo after the first twenty-five or so had passed through the line. Rhys excused himself not long after to go looking for her. Tosh simply smiled while Lana wrapped an arm around her after refilling her glass of wine, comforting better than Jack could what with the absence of Jean-Luc at her side as people introduced themselves, made their connection, and shared their memory before moving on, another stepping up in their place.

So many people.

So many facets of Ianto they had never known.

And never would. Fuck, he was _gone_.

Jack turned his face to the sky, wishing it would rain so he could pretend it really wasn't him crying, merely the weather sympathizing his mood. A million lifetimes, he had possibly a million lifetimes and yet he had less than one to truly know a person he loved. It didn't seem fair, but then, whether immortal or not, death never was. He just hated regret and it swam about him as cold as the frigid air.

But it was more than that, Jack knew as he stared out over Cardiff, the wind whipping his coat around his legs as he stuffed his hands in his pockets for warmth. Each person he talked to, be it stranger, teammate, or friend, knew Ianto differently, identified with him on levels the next couldn't understand but offered their own unique perspective in reply. And he could see it reflected in the people who greeted him, the teammates who cried on his shoulder, and the family proud and grieving.

Ianto's life; a myriad of experiences, tragedy, and love; a life touching so many.

So it had been Ianto's life Jack spoke of when he'd stood awkward on the stage in front of far more people than he had ever intended to speak to, to eulogize the man so many had loved and respected. "A wise man once told me that in the 21st century, everything changes," he'd begun, staring down at the glass in his hands, a welcome distraction from the people staring back. "Ianto was right, you've changed." Jack snorted, which may have sounded suspiciously like a sniff but he reassured himself it was only the microphone, and quickly amended. " _We've_ changed. Because of him."

Jack finally gave up staring at the glass, glancing for the first time to face the crowd staring back, silent but for sniffles or quiet coughs. Perhaps they were expecting something profound. But he didn't do profound great speeches any better than Owen, and the thought of that nearly made him laugh. And wouldn't that be inappropriate. "I could try to tell you why I loved him, or why if you didn't you should, but that wouldn't be half of who Ianto was. All you really have to do is look about this room, because each of you reflect a piece of him. Someone he's loved, someone he's cherished, someone he's protected or considered family." He smiled, doing as he'd said to do and truly looking at the faces smiling back.

So many people.

"We're all just beautiful shades of Ianto."


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Day of Black

_One year later..._

Jack leaned on the railing overlooking the Hub, legs crossed casually, feeling every bit his age (extended as it was) but yet content.  And most certainly amused. Elaine and Broderick had arrived nearly an hour earlier, bringing along Bryce and Gareth who, after greeting him, instantly began pestering Owen. What odd sounds, children's laughter, to be heard in the Hub. And they were at the perfect age: smart enough to know how to get into trouble and young enough to get away with acting innocent. Jack remembered that time well, brief as it had been. He'd lost his innocence early, though he presumed Bryce and Gareth understood far better than other kids their age.

They'd lost as well.

The twins drove Owen mad, which was half the reason Elaine had brought them along, Jack imagined. Not that they bothered Owen. In fact, if Jack were to be asked, he rather thought Owen enjoyed playing with the twins who were probably of the same mentality. They got on well and shared Owen's fascination with alien bodies. Disturbed Elaine, but the twins both were determined to carry on in their father and uncle's footsteps.

Elaine and Owen; an odd pair. Jack didn't think there was anything going on between them, and Jack prided himself on knowing when people were shagging. They smelled different, pheromones pouring off in waves. But if Owen was taking it slow, courting Elaine? He wasn't sure if Ianto would have approved or not, so he was torn between laying into Owen to back off Ianto's sister or encouraging him because Elaine was probably the sweetest person who had actually taken an honest interest in him, Diane notwithstanding.

But, Jack could be reading more into it than existed. Ianto's death had shaken Owen far more than Jack would have assumed. Their constant sniping had always led Jack to believe the relationship was eggshells and razorblades. But maybe it had been more brothers than enemies, a skewed and twisted camaraderie but an underlying protective respect.

Jack should have realized that with the aftermath of Lisa.

Elaine and Owen had bonded after the memorial service, drowning life and memory in alcohol and stories. Jack had found them curled up on the Hub couch, asleep. He'd covered them with a few spare blankets, made sure there was water and a bottle of aspirin on the end table, and left them in peace. He had checked on them periodically between sitting in his office, busying himself with whatever he could find. He froze in surprise, though, when he caught Tosh tucking the blankets tighter around Elaine and Owen. She gave a small, tired smile and sat at her desk, starting up reports or whatever the hell she'd found to busy herself with.

Jack hadn't returned to his office, choosing instead to sit at Gwen's desk and beat all of Gwen's scores on Minesweeper, just because.

His office had been far too quiet and held far too many memories.

Elaine waved up to Jack, smiling at some story Owen was sharing with Broderick while the twins spun on the office chairs. Jack waved back but remained where he was, watching.

He'd probably heard the story anyway and he was still suspicious as hell of Ianto's father. Torchwood had taken to hitting the pub, as the team had apparently done between his absences. The first time. Before he'd been found at Torchwood Four. It was a good habit, the first few times a bit rough, but that was to be expected. Jack understood the stages of grief and could categorically list and estimate the proper time it would take to pass through each given the individual. In the future, they had specialists who were assigned to the friends and family, trained, better than the psychology of today. They helped and guided. Jack slipped himself into the role easily; it gave him more to do, more feeling of accomplishment that he was _doing_ something. When left to his own devices he had felt so utterly lost and helpless.

So to _Lana's_ every Wednesday night, stories coming easier and more personal as the weeks passed. Jack learned a bit more, every week, though he kept most of his memories close to the vest. And if people thought it was odd that Jack used the women's loo instead of the men's, no one commented. The staff and customers just let it go, regulars understood there was something important and let him be, and the others just blushed at the sinks as Jack joined the women in washing his hands. If there was any trouble, Jack assumed Lana had taken care of it because he'd never heard a whisper.

A delightful girl, good head on her shoulders that Lana. Good business as well. The servers knew the team and had their drinks ready before they'd even sat down at their table. Torchwood's table. No one sat there on Wednesday nights. In fact, Jack wondered if anyone sat there at all. There had only been one mistake with the drinks early on, though Jack thought Lana devious enough that she might have intentionally done it. It'd taken the mix-up before any of them realized Gwen was drinking straight cola, she'd fessed up to the pregnancy once Owen had blurted something about raging hormones and her short temper.

They'd toasted to Gwen and Rhys that night, the first time it'd been anything but Stephen or Ianto since that day.

 _Lana's_ had joined in the cheering at the announcement as well, cheering again when she'd announced it was a boy, hushed to silence when she said that she and Rhys were going to call him Ianto.

Jack's voice might have cracked as he led that toast, but he'd fled _Lana's_ before anyone could comment or ask him the inane question 'was he okay?'

Of course he was fine.

Jack had to be, for his team and for all the rest of the world looking at him.

The baby had been born four months ago, a beautiful baby boy with all his fingers and toes. Owen had commented that he looked like a mini-Winston Churchill, but Jack didn't really see the resemblance aside from a few baby wrinkles and a squalling cry. The little tyke really looked more like an old friend Jack had back before the Agency, dark hair, big brown eyes.

Jack called baby Cooper-Williams "Gizmo."

No one commented. Tosh copied him first, then Owen. Wasn't long before all of Torchwood called the little kid "Gizmo." Good name. Gizmo had caused plenty of trouble with Jack back in their days; he was sure the kid would do the same, especially if Jack taught him a few tricks.

He smiled as Gwen and Rhys came round from the conference room, Gwen with one of those baby slings and, he assumed, Gizmo tucked away inside given the way the sling was squirming. That or they had yet another alien incursion; Jack wouldn't be surprised. Seemed like this would be the day when Rift activity sky-rocketed and aliens made another attempt on Earth.

The invisible lift activated, drawing Jack's attention from Gwen and Rhys. Laughter echoed around the Hub, partnered with a distinctly feminine squeal and a barking laugh that Jack had come to know from various phone calls and meetings. As the lift continued to sink, he smirked as he saw the cause of the laughter. Two bodies made for close quarters; three was a tight fit (and how they had ever managed to not fall off when the team had ran from Lisa Jack couldn't figure out). Jean-Luc had his arms wrapped tight around Tosh and Sheppard, holding them close as they descended -- probably not entirely necessary but the trio appeared to be enjoying themselves, so who was Jack to complain. Pretty picture as well, and Jack was going to complain even less about that. It'd be prettier if he were in the middle, but he'd settle for watching the three laugh, better even then the finest Narcian wine, harvested at the peak season amidst pink skies and colored rain.

It had taken Jean-Luc so long to laugh again.

He'd woken about a month after the memorial service, physically weak and disoriented. But Jean-Luc had known. He'd _known_ without anyone speaking of Ianto and Stephen. Jack had seen many things in his day, more tragedy and horror than filled the shelves of a video rental store, but he hadn't been prepared for that, for the complete unraveling of a powerful empath and telekinetic, and neither had all of Avalon. Hell, the whole world knew when Jean-Luc had regained consciousness. It'd taken almost an hour to collect themselves enough to begin attempting to get through to Jean-Luc that every alien in this galaxy was probably weeping, much less the people of earth, and that really, the lightning storm outside had to end before it burned down yet another Avalon building. Tosh had finally succeeded in getting close enough to Jean-Luc to touch, signalling for Jack, Owen, and Healer Solaine to leave them be.

Tosh. Brave Toshiko Sato, stepping in while the room spun in disarray, rushing to Jean-Luc's bedside despite the danger because he most certainly wasn't in control. Or maybe he was, and it was more a gifted-fueled tantrum. Jack couldn't blame him either way; they'd all had their moments the past month. Jean-Luc was due his, though he could have done it without the freak lightning storm thatmade Jack's hair stand on end and the threat to one of his team.

Tosh surprised Jack time and again, though by now he should have known better than to underestimate the quiet ones. She was uncomfortably perceptive, bringing him tea in the evening after everyone else had left and just ...sat with him, sipping tea and occasionally joining him for dinner. She claimed her flat was too quiet, but she kept coming, even after Jean-Luc woke. When that piece of tech from the ninth quadrant of the Pfktrains system had been accidentally activated by a determinedly housekeeping (nesting) Gwen, and the injured Tosh had been stuck in bed for days, Jack had missed their tea time.

Until Jean-Luc had shown up unexpectedly and inexplicably, smirking as he'd held bags of Chinese take-away in one hand, saki in the other, waltzing up to Jack's office like he had access codes and free reign to the Hub. Which, he didn't. None did, except Torchwood Three. Uninvited, Jean-Luc sprawled in the chair across from Jack, setting the cartons on half-finished paperwork and poured the saki into glasses far too large for the beverage. "Tosh kicked me out of the flat for the evening," was all Jean-Luc said before grabbing a drink, chopsticks, and a carton of what smelled like beef lo mein.

Jack hadn't believed him for a minute, but selected a carton for himself. They hadn't spoken that entire night, just got drunk on saki and stained the paperwork with soy sauce.

He believed Jean-Luc even less when he'd shown up the next night and ever night thereafter, even when Tosh was back on duty.  When he'd questioned Tosh, she'd just smiled a teary smile and patted his chest before returning to her computer screens. Jack hadn't missed the way her hands shook when she picked up her tea, but he hadn't asked again. Not even when the occasional dinner became nightly and Jean-Luc joined them every time.

The grin Jack wore as he watched Jean-Luc, Tosh, and Sheppard faded into a slight frown, mind adding all the other moments throughout the past year, from the mundane to the larger gestures. Fresh flowers at the memorial stone every day matching the flowers which appeared on his desk -- he'd checked the internal CCTV footage and could never find the culprit -- a book of photographs of Ianto taken at various points in time of what Jack assumed both doctored CCTV footage and personal camera, not left on his desk but on the bed in Ianto's flat where Jack had taken to staying at night when he'd needed to (a secret indulgence he'd thought he'd kept hidden from everyone else). The list was endless, but had a touch of Tosh in the elements.

He supposed that perhaps he hadn't been quite as good at hiding things as he'd hoped. That and Tosh was ... Tosh. Tech genius, medically trained, sharp with a gun, and periodic caretaker of an immortal. He should feel embarrassed by the thought, but really, it just left him pleasantly warm.

Jack nodded a greeting to the trio when Sheppard waved up at him. The relations with the United States alien fighting group had continued. Sheppard had pretty much ensured it would when he'd appeared (somewhat sheepishly, if Jack were to be asked) at Torchwood's doorstep with various alien tech, including a familiar Diadem sphere: the missing objects from the Archives that Wilson had snuck off premises. Jack had been stunned at first, then ordered Owen and Rhys to fetch a dolly to move the alien tech to the Archives.

Not only had Sheppard returned the tech, but he'd also brought a contract of sorts, a document that had Ianto's prints all over it, figuratively and literally. A unification treaty for all countries, something Ianto and Sheppard had been working on after the first dragon attack. Jack vaguely remembered it from _then_ , but it had always been a distracting piece of politics that he'd done his best to save Ianto from, engaging him in after-hours activity which then required showers and naps. Jack hadn't realized it'd been finished, but he signed it without really reading it. It was Ianto's work. He didn't doubt the integrity of the treaty or question what responsibilities Torchwood and Britain would have. The newly appointed Secretary of Research and Resource Allocation should probably have signed it as well, but Jack didn't wait, penning his name at the top.

Sheppard looked good in his dragon hide pants, coat, and boots, Jack absently noticed as Tosh and Jean-Luc lead the way to the conference room. Even the eye patch looked like it was made of dragon hide. On anyone else, Jack would have called the tanned hide offensive and demanded the immediate removal. But on Sheppard, Sheppard could wear it. And wore it with honor.

Jack thought of creating a complete look in dragon hide for himself. It'd last him years, plus he'd wear it better. Sheppard had no ass and his legs were too skinny.

That was everyone, if he counted right. Lana had sent her regrets, she had her club to run on the holiday, but had supplied all the spirits (lemonade for the kids) and food for the celebration. Torchwood London (Torchwood Five, if anyone was still counting) was bogged down in some sticky mess of alien goo, what had appeared an innocent box had been booby-trapped with a tar-like substance and they were still cleaning up the mess in their new facilities. They promised to share a drink -- Jack was pretty sure that was code for drink until they passed out, but he wasn't going to question their actions. Wasn't his duty, at any rate. He had Torchwood Three to look after, and that was more than enough on the best of days.

Staring out over the Hub, Jack's fingers curled tight on the railing as he felt the calm settling over the home he'd known for years. Decades. Twice over in an odd turn of time lines. This was why they fought, Torchwood and the rest of the world, searching for that moment of quiet peace that even the Rift refused to interrupt. They'd survived for a year, all of them, and Jack supposed that was something.

"Are you coming, Jack? Hurry up, party's to start without you!" Gwen's voice carried through Torchwood Three, reminding Jack of the reason everyone had gathered.

They'd all survived. Except the one who mattered most. But, that was Jack's destiny if he were to have one. And better to have loved than never to have known it, to quote the old adage. Not that it made the pain less or him more willing to try again, but it helped soften time as it slowly passed, aging those around him while he remained.

The churning songs of the TARDIS startled Jack, surprising him mid-step as he was turning to join the others in the conference room. She slowly materialized in front of the Hub's rolling door, the familiar blue Police box dissolving then reemerging clearer than before until quiet again fell over the Hub, sounding loud to Jack's ears.

"Jack! Not late are we? Got caught up throwing tea in a harbor to make a mer-creature happy and we nearly forgot. Well, I didn't forget, but Martha mentioned picking up a bottle of wine from New France and I discovered the dreadful hospitality of monks who were really alien minks selling human-skin coats. So, right then. Where's the party?"

The last vestiges of Jack's surprise slid off, spurring him to action as he rounded the stairs to stand in front of the Doctor who rocked back on his heels, hands stuffed in his pockets with the familiar grin upon his face. Martha joined the Doctor, a bottle of wine in her hand (vintage 4369, good year for a New France wine, one of Jack's favorites), looking as beautiful as the Doctor was whimsically handsome.

"Doctor, I believe you've made him speechless."

Remembering his manners, Jack kissed Martha's cheek, welcoming her to Torchwood Three. 

The Doctor continued to bounce in place, whistling as Myfanwy flew overhead, drawn by curiosity to the Doctor.   Jack could only wish to command that kind of allure, though he thought he did rather well for a mere human if he did say so himself. He caught himself mimicking Ianto's arched eyebrow of query, smiling to himself. "Don't take this the wrong way, Doctor, but why are you here? You didn't know Ianto."

Jack watched as the smile disappeared from the Doctor's face, morphing not into a scowl but a serious look usually reserved for imminent universe collapse barring a half-strung solution. For a moment, Jack honestly believed there was a threat again to the Earth and that was the true reason the Doctor had come. Call it irony, call it karmic, call it the goddesses mocking his very existence.

"But you did," the Doctor finally said, extending a hand to touch Jack's cheek, a surprise in and of itself. He never touched. Never. Not if he could help it, not that Jack had seen or felt. To Jack, it seemed as though the contact was too much for the solitary figure, last of his kind in the known universe. Maybe it was, or maybe the Doctor had been alone for so long the sensation was overwhelming. Or maybe he believed himself unworthy of it.

Or maybe Jack should just quit attempting to figure out a Time Lord whose consciousness and experience put his to shame.

The touch was gone almost as quickly as it'd come, leaving Jack with the faint impression of the Doctor's fingers upon his skin, a warm reassurance surpassing normal, fleeting touch. Loss and understanding, sympathy and hope, and a touch of exhilaration at the spirit of the human race for amazing the Doctor time and again. Somewhere in there a sense of familiarity, not of kinship, but a connection spanning time. The Doctor couldn't explain Jack, had no answers beyond assumptions and theories, but Jack would be around for a very, very long time. And in the Doctor's existence, that was a very rare thing indeed.

Jack smiled, nodding in agreement with all the things the Doctor didn't say and everything Jack couldn't comprehend but figured he'd agree with anyway.

"Splendid." The Doctor's face broke into a broad grin, nearly dancing on the balls of his feet in excitement. "So let's go celebrate this Day of Black."

***

Jack nearly laughed at Elaine's expression when he, the Doctor, and Martha strolled through the door of the conference room, full with people, food, drinks, and a digital photo montage on the screen at the far end of the room. Jack wandered towards it, curious, seeing pictures from the photo album as well as others he couldn't place. One particular black and white caught his eye -- Ianto slouched long in a chair, dark suit coat tossed over the arm, tie loose, and white collar unbuttoned. His eyes were closed, hands clasped in his lap. Jack at first thought he was asleep, but his features were too taunt, too drawn for sleep, stress and tension radiating off his body clearly in the black and white image. Jack stared longer, spotting another object in the picture, the small alien iPod device peaking out from Ianto's clutched hands, thumb on the advance button, shadowed grays highlighting his cheekbones, curling over his fingers and playing hide and seek with the lighting.

The man was beautiful.

Which led Jack to the next question of who had spied upon him to take such an intimate photo.

Laughter distracted him, Tosh's echoing giggle pulling him away from the photos to focus his attention to the people in the room. The Doctor looked abashed and Elaine smirked in such an echo of her brother the effect was startling.

"I'm just saying, if I were to adhere to Torchwood protocol, you'd be taken into custody and held until I'd extracted as much information from you as possible, Enemy of Torchwood."

Jack stepped forward, belatedly remembering what was defined in those protocols. The others didn't appear alarmed, however; his team appeared more amused and Martha was certainly struggling to maintain her composure.

"Enemy? Now that's a harsh word. Well, I've never been one for protocol. And you, Ms. Blue?"

"Nope." Elaine smiled indulgently, waving a hand to brush aside the mere notion of the politics. "My brother rewrote some of the old protocol anyway. You're now honored, Doctor, for your involvement in the Battle of Canary Wharf."

"He was there?" The Doctor asked, and Jack couldn't help but beam with a bit of pride for Ianto, surviving that horrendous experience -- more than survived, he'd returned stronger after the defeat (though the defeat had truly taken time to fully pass, and Jack still couldn't believe he'd managed to sneak the Cyberwoman into the Hub). That simply was Ianto. Unexpected but desperately needed, stumbling but growing with each battle until he became one of legend, a king among men. Because that's what he was now, one year later, and there was an international day of celebration in honor of his sacrifice. Jack had even witnessed kids in the street, playing Torchwood and Dragons, fighting over who got to be Mr. Black. It'd hurt, if it didn't make him so damned proud.

"The air grows thin when viewing life from so high, doesn't it, Time Lord?"

Jack's gaze, as well as everyone else's snapped to Broderick, smiling happily as he poured himself a glass of cognac instead of the champagne poured for everyone else. Not for the first time, Jack felt like he'd been stunned by a blaster from Gragenok in conversation with Ianto's father, though he did have to admit some relief that the words weren't directed at him.

The Doctor seemed equally as taken aback, staring at Broderick like he'd completely overlooked him the first time he'd entered the room. Perhaps he had, Broderick was easy to overlook in the elderly paternal sense. "I meant no offense, only admiration. Sorry, have we met before?"

"You never do." Jack didn't fail to notice that Broderick hadn't answered the Doctor's question, but from what he knew of Ianto's experiences with his father, the man never did answer a question. Well, if anything, this dynamic would provide the entertainment for the evening, and Jack would be happy to sit back and watch, if only to glean a little more information about the enigmatic father of Ianto Jones. "I believe toasts are in order to begin our evening. Elaine?"

Elaine stood and everyone else followed, a room full of people set to honor Ianto on this Day of Black. Worldwide, others were doing the same, all having witnessed the same events, the same story as it had unfolded before his teams' eyes and his own. Jack didn't know of another international holiday, based on an individual, celebrated by all religions, all creeds, all politics, and walks of life.

Fuck, even in death, he had managed to unite them all.

"When Gwen told me she was organizing this little soiree, she asked me to lead the first toast in honor of my brother and the leader before me." Elaine paused for a moment, chewing her lip before continuing. Jack couldn't blame her; Gwen had asked him to speak as well and the mere thought ran ice cold down his spine. Across the table, Jean-Luc had his arm around Tosh's shoulder, Gwen and Rhys held hands, and the twins seemed to know something serious was being said because they held themselves more still than Jack had ever seen them stand. Martha sat to his left with the Doctor two spots down, still staring at Broderick like he could extrapolate an answer from Broderick's grin. Sheppard sat to his right, and Jack swore he could smell sulfur off the jacket Sheppard wore, though it was probably his imagination, and Owen sat just beyond John.

After a moment to collect herself, Elaine went on. "Honestly? I've learned I didn't know him half as well as I thought I did. Oh, I knew to the core what kind of person he was. But until this day, one year ago, I didn't know what he _did_. And as much as it terrified me to watch, I knew my brother and his oaths. He kept each and every one."

Jack glanced around the table, not missing the few subtle sniffs, accidentally catching Jean-Luc's eyes as they bore into his -- a frightening moment had Jack not been accustomed to the intensity of the man's gaze after so many evenings together.  
   
"So, I ask that you raise your glasses in toast: to Ianto, a son, my brother, an uncle, friend and lover, who by his life protected us all."

A chorus of cheers echoed around the table. Jack raised his glass and sipped his champagne even as the hair on the back of his neck rose. Someone was watching. A quick glance at the Doctor indicated that he had noticed it too. Subtle looks around the room as they all drank their champagne revealed nothing, and suddenly it was Jack's turn to speak, elbowed in the stomach by Sheppard who apparently knew the preset order for the toast.

Jack stood, somewhat reluctantly, if not for the speech but the unease. The base's alarms hadn't sounded yet, there was no reason to believe anything was amiss, but the Doctor was looking about, as was Broderick. A wary hand on his belt and ready for his gun, Jack raised his glass to say the words he'd planned the night before, carefully crafted to give proper respect. He owed it to Ianto. But while the group watched, words escaped him, fled him so quickly that the air felt pulled from his lungs.

Everything he meant to say sounded so trivial, so diminished in comparison of what he intended to say.

 _"Jack, something's wrong."_

Careful not to jerk in reaction, Jack calmly considered what to say while dealing with the touch of Jean-Luc in his semi-public mind. He'd never felt the direct touch of Jean-Luc's power before; the only contact had been the attempt by Tosh ever so long ago. Empathic sharing was one thing, but this? No wonder the man had almost struck Ianto dead with his panicked cry.

No wonder he'd led Avalon in their attack against the dragons.

"I had a whole list of things to say tonight, to toast Ianto. Truth is, he'd've hated it, which makes me want to say even more." Jack continued looking about the room, as unobtrusively as possible, passing off a sincere look at everyone at the table in name of understanding. He'd not actively used any psychic skills taught by the Time Agency in years, but he drudged up what he could remember to converse with Jean-Luc at the same time. _"The Doctor and Broderick are aware as well. Can you sense what it is? What's the danger? We have children here as well as Ms. Blue."_

Jack smiled at the table, not missing Martha's hand wrapping around his free hand, lending him the resolve to continue. "Ianto was ... despite everything ... I was furious when I returned with the Doctor." Jack heard the Doctor snort and Martha squeezed his hand; they both had felt his ire for that period between remembering and seeking revenge. "But I realized what he'd done ... I couldn't..." After repeated starts and stops, Jack just stopped himself, his loss of words embarrassing for his age and education.

 _"Can't tell. There's something ... here."_

With a grin that betrayed none of his wariness and the slight tinge of fear, Jack summed up his babble. "I loved him. Just as everyone else who ever met him. So, to Ianto Jones, reminding us of love, reminding us all to live." Jack sipped his glass, catching something fly past the door, just in the corner of his eye.

Shit.

The glass dropped as a flash of lightning blinded the room, followed quickly by a clap of thunder that set the baby Gizmo screaming in fear (Gwen too, but Jack wasn't going to pressure himself to remember that). Jack had his gun pulled and he was out the door faster than any other could respond, though he could feel Sheppard a step behind, the Doctor beside Sheppard and everyone else following in suit. "Gwen!" Jack shouted above the wind whipping around the Hub, fuck he knew what was happening. "Take the kids and Ms. Blue! Keep them safe!"

He could hardly breathe for the wind. Another flash of lightning smelling of ozone electrified all his nerve endings until he jittered. The storm was _in_ the Hub, no rain, but the savage blast scraped his skin like sandpaper, his gun would hardly stand a chance in the force of the gale. But almost as suddenly as it began, the tempest dissipated, falling off to an uneasy still as though they'd all entered the eye of a hurricane. It wasn't natural, nothing about this storm was natural. There should be no wind, much less lightning and thunder, and where the hell _were_ they?

Jack spun in a quick circle as they entered the main section of the base, staring up and around as the others fell in position behind him. None were armed, save for Sheppard and the Doctor and his trusted sonic screwdriver -- a device Jack definitely needed as it never failed, it always seemed to work exactly as the Doctor wanted.

Could probably stun an alien or two, maybe.

Or perhaps a faery.

"Show yourself!" Jack shouted, his voice sounding so lonely in the quiet hum of the Hub. Paper littered the ground, spun up by the storm, and a few items appeared to have been knocked to the floor, light enough to have been carried by the wind, or struck down by a childish hand. "I know you're there, show yourself!"

High-pitched laughter bounced off every surface within the Hub, setting his every nerve on edge. His fury was so intense he almost missed Sheppard's query as to 'What the fuck was going on?' Jack had more than a few things he wished to say, more than a few things to ask. He remembered it all. All their watching and stalking of Ianto. They may be an old power, but that wouldn't stop Jack from asking _why?_

"Bloody faeries." Owen swore, and Jack really had to agree. Apparently Sheppard hadn't the pleasure of meeting the creatures; hopefully this wouldn't draw their focus to the United States if they'd not had an interest before. He was in for a treat; the faeries hadn't let Jack down yet.

And of course, it had to be that day.

Rapid flitters of paper-dry wings crackled over the sound of the water tower, drawing Jack's eyes up yet again. This time he wasn't disappointed as no longer were the faeries hiding away in the shadows, away from direct line of sight. They exposed themselves in all their bulbous green glory, taunting Myfanwy in spiralling concentric circles and playing in the water. No surface was too small or too vertical for purchase. Their hands and feet landed briefly on stone and metal only to spring off and swoop down over their heads, making all duck except for Broderick and the Doctor, who remained disgustingly unaffected while everyone else clung to their weapons (or, in Owen's case, his drink).

Smart man.

"Enough!" Jack pitched his voice loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the faeries and nervous hum of the Torchwood crew. A flash of black at his side drew his attention and Jack cursed every deity across countless millenia. The black dress was the last thing he wanted to see in the main Hub area with the situation rapidly cascading out of control. "Elaine, go back to the conference room with Gwen and the kids."

"Think you can order me about, do you Jack? I'll not cower and insult my family. Find me a weapon and show me why the hell I so heavily fund Torchwood."

Jack winced a bit at the tone, though he made every effort to hide a reaction. Of course she was a Jones; they were stubborn as Grecian mules (the system, not the country) and refused to listen to sense. No matter how concerned he was for them or their family. Jack might be from the 51st century but damn if some old protective instincts weren't difficult to eliminate via evolution. Especially having lived the past century and a half immersed in this culture.

A handgun was passed forward, along with a snicker from Sheppard because only he would have the audacity to laugh at Jack when he had so many tools by which to punish his team. Elaine looked uncomfortable but determined as she held the gun; Jack had no more time to wonder if it was such a wise idea to have her involved when a soft white light distracted him, separating from the water tower while the faeries weaved in flight around it. It seemed to dance on air currents, drifting and floating down like an autumn leaf, only Jack knew it for what it was: the innocent guise of the faeries, as pure as the children they took for as their Chosen. It was all fake; the faeries were neither pure nor innocent, but maybe they once had been, before time and after all had been destroyed and time ceased.

 _"I can't stop them; this is an ancient power."_

Jack mentally thanked Jean-Luc for his failure, receiving what felt like a fucking raspberry in response. He maintained a steady, unwavering grip of his gun, not flinching as the tiny figure drew close, nor did he gasp when it blurred, elongating in a blurred stretch as the light faded but the body grew. What had been diminutive became full-figured and tall, a head of raven-black hair piled in an intricate weave with curls spilling over her shoulders and nearly touching the floor. Skin pale as Jack felt, though he knew hers to be a natural pallor. He knew _her_ and her appearance was not welcome. She caused trouble and mayhem wherever she went and he'd had enough of trouble and mayhem, especially on this day.

This was supposed to be a day of celebration, of freedom and life.

"You haven't changed," the woman purred while laughing, approaching Jack while the rest of the faeries dropped to the ground behind her, forming a line of rose-green, threatening guard. Jack remained still, even when she raised her hand to touch his hair, the silvered jewels in hers gleaming in the light as she moved. Her robes were a rich, earthy green but held a sheen no human thread could match; they smelled vaguely of roses. Jack managed to fight every bone in his being not to move, though the urge was growing stronger with each passing moment. "Or maybe you have," she amended, tugging at the ends which never wanted to lay flat, though it had when it was longer, tied back from his face. That was the Jack she had known, so long ago.

"Fuck, Harkness. Is there anyone you haven't slept with?"

Jack hesitated to move at all despite the urge to smack Owen upside the head for his question. Jack hadn't slept with Owen, after all. "Ladies and gentlemen," Jack spoke smoothly, never looking away from the green eyes which matched the robes, an intense stare into eyes which held lifetimes (ignoring the Doctor and Broderick chirping in that they hadn't, in fact, slept with Jack, and then the others followed in, with Owen amending, "Fine, alien"). "May I introduce, the Queen of the Fae."

"But ... how?"

Gwen's voice startled Jack, and he turned, despite the danger in front of him, to find her standing with Bryce and Gareth, Gizmo tucked away in the fabric of the sling. "Gwen ..." Jack all but growled, as protective of Ianto's nephews as he would have been had he truly been their 'Uncle Jack.' He was honoree, if anything. Which gave some added strength to his voice. "Get the kids out of here!"

"And no less paranoid," the Queen giggled, a sound echoed eerily in childish tones by the faery standing behind her. "I have not come for the children, though we would gladly accept the offering. They are both beautiful and spirited."

"There'll be none of that, Fae. Two are my kin and you've no claim on them." Jack glanced at Ianto's father, standing beside Elaine and looking, quite frankly, scarily defiant with his arms crossed, the two providing a fearsome defensive wall in front of Gwen and the children. The look passed as quickly as it'd come. Broderick's face lit in a smile that left Jack blinking in wonder at the rapid change, the surprise making him hesitate just long enough for Broderick to slip past to embrace the Queen, being so forward as to lay a kiss on her cheek. "But you are looking beautiful, my dear. The years have only blessed you."

Martha's alarmed "what?" echoed precisely what Jack wished to say, only with a cuter accent.

"Jack, what do we do?" Tosh whispered, standing with a hand clasped in Jean-Luc's. Owen and Sheppard looked equally as befuddled while the Doctor just looked intrigued. So much for help from him, Jack noted, wondering what action was the best to take. He still had his gun; they could put up a fight but he was inordinately curious as to why the faery had come. At the very least, he wanted an explanation from Ianto's father.

Broderick had already moved, resuming his post beside Elaine after sweeping one of the twins into his arms, the other clutching his hand and staring wide-eyed at the faeries. (Jack wasn't sure which was which, he still wasn't able to tell the twins apart.) They didn't look scared, just surprised. Which was good -- children in the Hub were enough while a threat was present, screaming children would have just put Jack over the edge.

The Queen stepped forward, moving into Jack's personal space, and he didn't miss that the others stepped away in reaction. He held his ground, though; he'd dealt with her before. A lifetime ago, but familiar territory all the same. He still didn't trust her, and he was pretty sure she would only use or manipulate him for her own purpose.

"Are you not curious why I'm here?"

She seemed to float as she moved, a rustle of leaves seeming to follow in her path as she trailed a finger over his chest, over his shoulders and back as she circled. Jack squared his jaw, biting back what he wanted to say in favor of provoking, something far more rewarding in that it at least squared her attention on him and none of the others. Not to mention, a bit more fun. "Not really. This is a private party, by invitation only. So unless you've got a glossy card with the time and date, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Jack would have laughed at the tantrum that followed -- once a child, always a child, from the foot-stomp to the frustrated wail -- if he hadn't been swept up by a gale of wind as though he was simply a feather, air currents swirling around him so fast Jack found himself suspended in mid-air, thrown away from the others as the Queen raged below.

What was he saying? It was still rather amusing.

The world dropped away as he felt the wind die, the suddenness taking his breath away as he plummeted to the ground. Jack forced himself to relax. The height wouldn't kill him if he was careful; he was more concerned for the twins viewing the violence than for himself. He closed his eyes, but the collision with the floor never came, although he experienced as much of a shock as the actual impact would have been, almost bouncing in the air as he could practically feel the particles vibrating around him.

 _"I would suggest using a more sensitive approach next time, Jack."_

Grinning despite himself as he carefully regained his balance to stand again, Jack opened his eyes to Jean-Luc's, so piercing pale blue despite being halfway across the Hub that they almost seemed lit with power. He nodded his thanks before turning to the Queen as she stalked towards him, the other eight faeries trailing behind her like little ducklings.

"You try my patience."

Jack raised his chin, offering her his patented Harkness smile. "I've been told that before, but usually it involves fewer clothes." The Queen's lips pressed into a thin frown, the bitter look one Jack had seen before. He knew he should have been wary of those earlier smiles and laughter; her core was far more cruel than the lighthearted front had presented. He knew; he'd experienced it and he'd every reason to hate. "You've destroyed people I've loved. Why should I listen?"

"So young. Arrogant." The Queen curled long, red-nailed fingers around his jaw, tilting his face in the light. Jack felt the muscles in his neck begin to tremble with the effort not to pull away and fire every bullet in his Webbly, but he kept still; he preferred his head where it was. "You believe this to be about you?"

Jack had no comment, just a quiet fear he hadn't felt in so long . He didn't necessarily fear death -- that was a fear long lost to spears and starvation and Abaddon. But control was gone, as was any understanding of the situation. When assumed motivations were no longer in play, Jack couldn't act. He couldn't figure a way out, he couldn't second guess or get ahead or out-talk, and he certainly wasn't going to flirt. He had no fucking clue what their motivation was. They had invaded his turf and more than just him was threatened. He felt _helpless,_ and he hated that feeling.

Fear. "What is it about, then?"

A cool finger ran down his neck until it reached his chest, pushing Jack backwards with startling strength so that he had to backpedal to remain upright but he didn't miss what she whispered. "Promises."

The faeries behind her erupted into childish laughter as they sprung up on their gangly legs, so quickly Jack had barely righted himself when they were yards in the air. Swooping and flashing into brilliant light, the tiny pixies Estelle saw hovered like spheres of light around the Queen. She drank the attention and the light, faeries dancing on the palms of her hands, making the silver and jewels in her hair gleam. Quite the display, though Jack wasn't exactly sure for who.

"Jack, what do we do?"

He spared a glance at Gwen and the team, the Doctor and Ianto's family and friends. They were on the opposite side of the tower, the Queen of the Fae and her minions between them. "Stay there." Jack really had no other advice; what did one say to defend against a faery? Close one's eyes and quit believing in them? He addressed the Queen directly, inching closer to her until tiny glowing faeries zoomed in front of him, halting his approach. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't." She held one childlike faery in her hand, cupping her fingers around it as though to protect, her robes glimmering green as they swirled around her. He'd ask her to teach him that trick, she made the movement look effortless and he always had to work to get his coat to move, but he didn't think she'd be so keen to part with that information. Selfish as ever, unwilling to give up anything she wanted until she had claimed it completely, no matter the cost. Jack hadn't singlehandedly destroyed that kingdom, after all; he'd had a little help. "I had to protect my own."

"At the cost of Ianto!" The tiny faeries clung to his clothing, pulling Jack away from the Queen as he lunged forward, ready to strangle her even if it cost him a life. He tried to shake them off, but they wouldn't budge, clinging to his shirt, his pants, wings flapping so fast they were a powerful blur. "You gave him no choice!"

Her lips curved into a beautiful yet dangerous smile, daring Jack to contradict her, to play her game with all its unknown rules and consequences. "On the contrary, he had every choice. Of course, we lit his path on occasion. Couldn't have him lost now, could we?"

"You manipulated him!" Jack surged forward again, the faeries taunting and giggling as they held him fast, their hands feeling like red-hot needles against his skin. He was dimly aware of Owen, Sheppard, and Jean-Luc creeping towards him -- not so subtly Jack might add, and really, who had they learned their stealth from? Sheppard blended into the background but the other two were due for some training if they survived this.

"Your choice is ours, Ianto," the Queen's voice sing-songed in reply. Jack knew it must have been what was told to Ianto so long ago. Ianto had mentioned it, hinted briefly to Jack as he was now, and a bit more expanded in his past self. But never the words. "And our choice is yours."

"What. Does. That. Mean?" Jack growled, his patience shot with all her games and playing. "What was his choice?"

She stopped playing with the dancing faery upon her hand, throwing it up as one would throw a bird to flight. It fled up and away, pealing with glee as it flew away from the Queen. Jack waited for an answer; it seemed as though the Hub itself had paused, holding its breath as well. Even the individual drops of the waterfall slowed, silencing the melodic flow in frozen time. Her smile was radiant, part-child, part-woman, mother and daughter in the same ancient breath. He could understand why men fell captive to her spell. He saw why kingdoms crumbled as she danced in love and vengeance. And when she turned fully towards him, unnatural green eyes blazing with wisdom and innocence, power palpable as the air swirled around her, lifting the cascade of curls kissing her feet, Jack felt a bit of something like awe.

"Life."

Her hands rose above her head, meeting with a resounding crack as lightning flashed so brilliant that Jack's eyes teared while afterimages danced behind his closed eyes. The storm which had earlier died rose in a fury, deafening with its roar and thunderclaps that sounded too loud and too close. But for all its fury, Jack felt no fear. It wasn't ... threatening, and that was different for all his interactions with the faeries. It wasn't a storm to drown in, it wasn't even raining, and while the wind whipped around him, the current felt little more than a gentle puff.

Growing confident, Jack opened his eyes, slowly at first in case his senses and instincts were deceiving him. What he saw left him staring. Where the water tower had stood appeared a wooded land of tall, ancient trees, the ground blanketed by mist, a mist which swirled around Jack's ankles, creeping up his calves until the entire Hub floor was covered by it. Jack would call it a mirage, but it _smelled_ so real, the crisp sent of dewed greens beneath his feet, the old earth smell of the gnarled trees. The image stretched until the edges blended into the technology of the Hub, a curled, whitened edge like burnt paper. He knew what he was seeing, the lost forests. Out of time, the land of the Faery.

And the edges were shrinking, crackling inwards as the opening rapidly shrank, the sounds of laughter fading away as Jack assumed they returned home, returned after accomplishing what? He quickly glanced across at the team. Gwen still stood next to Rhys with Gizmo around her neck, the twins were still with Broderick. The Faery hadn't been after the children. So they had been there to scare the team? Intimidate him? Truth be told, they didn't have to go to such dramatics to scare him; they already scared him for all their seemingly random acts and agenda.

The Queen had vanished as well, lost somewhere as the winds died down and the hole closed, returning the Hub to its former self, with the water tower cascading down into the pool right where the Queen had stood. But they were gone, they were all gone, just as quickly as they'd come. Jack spun about, counting all the guests and team. Elaine was with Broderick and the Doctor, everyone was accounted for. The mist still lingered, drifting away without the other land to support it. Sheppard, Owen, Jean-Luc, and Tosh were close, staring at their ankles and kicking at the clingy cloud that circled and dissipated.

"Oh my god, Jack!"

He looked up to Martha, who wasn't looking at him but pointing at the fountain where the Queen had once stood. Jack was confused at first, but as the mist cleared, deep red spread over the Hub floor, not everywhere, but in a limited pile, a mound right where she had taunted and teased with half-information and childish games.

That wasn't what stole his breath, though. Jack had seen evidence of the faeries' presence before.

The thin line of pale cream within the red rose petals, that left Jack gasping.

 

 

 

***  
***

  
He woke slowly, awareness impinging on the silent dark with a ferocious snarl. It wasn't painful, it was just insistent, demanding, refusing to permit him solace in the silent dark again. Not that he wanted that -- he didn't think he did, there were important things outside the dark, but the thoughts were wafting through the awareness to disappear into the hazy mists. Important things ... things he must do. And people. Important people. Names slipped his grasp but he knew they existed beyond the dark, beyond the silent, wherever he had been before he was. Or perhaps it wasn't a question of before but a matter of now, amidst the patter of water he didn't hear so much as felt pounding a cascading rhythm upon his eardrums, individual waves blending to one complete sound.

Complete. There were things he needed to complete. To do. Unfinished and never started, existing simultaneously in needs he knew without question were his. He just needed to ...

He remembered. Remembered peace and calm, serenity within the chaos, stretching timeless as the river flowed around stone, unimpeded and undirected, just movement following the currents, never stopping yet never beginning. As it were and as it ever will be.

He _remembered_.

Memory gave him strength, love and laughter crawling down his fingers, guilt and remorse to his toes, care and concern for family, and something so much bigger than himself warming his middle until he could feel every bend and curve as he lay, knees to his chest, hands gently clasped together in unity making it difficult to pinpoint which finger belonged to each. But the longer he lay, the easier it became. Images joined the emotions, blending with sound until he could recall everything, every whisper and every scream, life and death as it gave and took without mercy in the unceasing cycle that made man both weak and powerful, the gods jealous and petty.

It took little effort to push to his knees and from there to his feet as he remained crouched, hands on his knees while he balanced on his toes, opening his eyes to water falling, drop chasing drop in a race for the finish wherever the flow might take them. Tilting his head, he could follow each individually as they tumbled over the other. As much a metaphor for life as could ever exist, all existing in a single unit moving forward to interact with others on the same path, except for some, bouncing off the thin skins in extraordinary directions. Some up, some down, some straight out and away from the steady stream, only to take up a path at a different point, a different pace in life.

It was then he remembered to breathe.

With his first breath he smelled roses so sharp it was overwhelming, itching his nose until a sneeze crept up faster than he could stop, starling him with sound as though he'd forgotten how to listen. The sneeze shot through his body; he could feel it in his chest and down to his toes, a feeling he'd never truly attended to but in the face of its vehement demands he cataloged every sensation. He laughed in delight as he'd never noticed before the way his muscles trembled or how he could feel the air expel from his lungs and pass through his nose and lips. It tickled; the very notion brought a smile to his lips as he uncurled from his squat and stood tall before the tower of water, hands on his hips just to feel that they existed as did the rest of him.

Raising his chin, he followed the tower straight to the ceiling, a dizzying sight to behold. But at the top, a solid stone roof, a stone which nearly sang its presence to him as the familiar earthen hues triggered yet more memories to push their way to the front, stampeding others as they clamored for attention. He remembered viewing the ceiling from different angles, lounged on the couch or spinning idly in a chair, thinking of answers or waiting for them. With one hand he ran his fingers through his hair, in both imitation of those memories and because he could. Sensations so familiar and new. Each strand felt unique as they slid through his fingers, pausing only when they encountered an object that didn't feel as the others, catching it as it fell from his hair into his hands.

A rose petal.

That would explain the pervasive scent.

He pivoted slowly on heel and toe, smoothing the petal between his fingers, bruising the red satin just enough to release the oils but not enough to damage the fragile curve. He knew where he was. He remembered. And as he spun, smell of roasted bean on his mind and the taste of coffee he craved from habit and comfort, his motion was halted by sights incompatible with his location. Two strangers stood next to his father, the twins and his sister; family he felt running strong and fierce in his blood. The constable with the heart sat on the floor, cradling something as she was being cradled by her rock, the rookie and surprisingly good rugby player. He couldn't quite register their expressions, that comprehension eluded him as their names but he knew them.

He _remembered_ who they were. He remembered what they meant to him. Unfinished, incomplete. The things he needed to do, to complete. He needed them.

Turning further, he saw the medic grasping the sleeve of the warrior who held the brilliant technician in his arms; why, he couldn't figure out. But he was distracted by movement, a figure with pale blue eyes removing his hand from the technician's shoulder as he moved, hands extended out to ward off the air or rose petals or the creatures who left them.

"Stop. This could be a trick."

The figure spoke, he knew the words but words seemed as empty as the letters he knew which spelled them. They were really just a fragment of quantified thought and interpretation, a notion incredibly difficult to move beyond to comprehension. Pale blue eyes moved in front of him, staring into his own.

 _"Ianto?"_

Ianto. That was it. Names collapsed from the upper citadels of his mind, tinkling like shattered glass. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Everyone he'd met, every person he'd researched, every single life and death, some with faces, some without -- just empty words so devoid of explanation or reason. He knew there was a story behind each name, even those without a face. A life behind those words.

And he knew this life, he knew this face.

"Jean-Luc." Ianto's face felt odd as his lips and tongue formed the sounds which meant the words. Stretching, pulling, and pursing, but his voice was clear, feeling as aware and ready as his flesh and bone. He remembered waking in the morning, his voice craggy with sleep as he threaten his alarm clock with permanent harm if it didn't stop.

 _"How do I know it's you?"_

With a smile, Ianto thought an invitation to the mental query, welcoming Jean-Luc to see whatever it was he wished to see. He could stop him, Ianto felt certain of that. Certain memories vibrated in various corners of his mind, teasing him to look, but he wasn't quite sure what was there; he just knew what was there meant he could stop Jean-Luc. But that felt ridiculous at this point, with his friend so close and present within his public mind that it only seemed natural to permit him to see whatever it was he needed to see.

Warmth spread comfort over his mind, the presence of Jean-Luc overwhelming but not threatening as various cues were given to recall memories from their childhood, from their teens, and into adulthood. They were mostly memories shared with Jean-Luc, flashing forward like photographs stacked and flipping, rapidly jetting through time as the images grew darker and stress crackled the edges, burning with dragon fire and on to incredible pain as the dragons attempted to tear through his mind. And then ... peace. Calm. Exploding brilliant white and gold and then ... nothing. Darkness.

Until awareness, lying on the floor.

Jean-Luc hastily withdrew, appearing shaken, and Ianto was certain he should have felt shaken as well but for the moment everything was too much, too overwhelming as too many things clamored to be cataloged and understood, from sights to sounds to smells and touch. Everything was something new or unexpected or certainly taken for granted before. Before ... Ianto wasn't sure what exactly.

"Merde, Ianto. It's really you."

As opposed to another Ianto? He wasn't sure what that was to mean, but Jean-Luc's tight hug left little room for either thought or breath. The contact was different, touch so intense like he'd forgotten what it felt like when something else contacted his skin, a million nerves rapidly firing to define the sensation of pressure. Every point where Jean-Luc's body contacted his was an individual pocket of wonderment and awe. His skin could feel so alive and fresh that he wondered how he ever grew accustomed to the sense.

A thought crossed his mind, causing the smile to slip from his face, pulling away so he could look at those familiar pale blue eyes. "Stephen's dead," Ianto sadly informed Jean-Luc, knowing his friend would miss their old mentor as much as he. He couldn't understand Jean-Luc's reaction, however, a flicker of something akin to grief and confusion registering before the face settled into an equally sad expression.

"Yeah, I know." Jean-Luc paused a moment before stepping away, a smirk on his face. "Come on, can't have you naked. You'll scare the kids with your skinny legs. Here." And with a slight wave, a coat flew over the heads of the two strangers and Ianto's family (he remembered, Broderick, Elaine, Bryce and Gareth), flying so quickly it ruffled their hair.

Ianto hadn't even realized until then that he was unclothed. Or maybe he had and he didn't particularly care.

Jean-Luc helped Ianto into the coat, a long coat, wool, and god did it scratch, falling just around mid-calf. While Jean-Luc was buttoning it, Ianto ran his hand over the grey wool, fondly remembering another great coat that held so many memories. The coat was too broad in the shoulders, but he supposed it would do until he could find some clothing that would fit, until he could go back to his flat and fetch some things. And talk with his family because why were they here? And Sheppard? Owen and Tosh were staring, Gwen and Rhys still clinging, a sling of fabric that looked remarkably like a ...

Ianto felt his face stretch into a scowl, his nose pressing into the collar of the coat to make certain he wasn't mistaken, imagining things that he wished were there. Hallucinations were a sign of madness, or so the handbooks said. He sniffed, closing his eyes as his mind nearly overloaded with memory of evenings on rooftops, loos, and that first date, laughter and sex, comfort and passion. It couldn't _be_ , but it was, overwhelmingly so, but it escaped logic to understand how or why. For the first time since he became aware, and perhaps not the last, Ianto felt himself slip into panic because it made no sense. And up until then, while perhaps things hadn't made sense, Ianto had never felt confusion or fear, feelings so deep-rooted he couldn't shake them off or brush them aside, figments of his imagination. But it wasn't the smell that made him fear, it was the missing that was so terrifying. "But I ... this is ... I sent him away."

As soon as he said it, he knew that didn't make sense. But the Jacks in his head were so intermingled as memory crumpled up and threw every image of Jack, every sound and spoken word he wasn't sure what was when and how.

Jean-Luc wasn't helping, uncertain and uncomfortable. But finally he spoke, his accent thick and heavy as his voice cracked. "You've been gone for a year, Ianto." With a nod over Ianto's shoulder, Jean-Luc quit talking, just gently nudged Ianto's arm to get him to turn.

He did turn, though it was somewhat reluctant as the idea of one year rattled about his mind and fought with the truth which stood behind him. It was too much, all just too _much_ and the panic intensified, remembering everything and understanding absolutely nothing. He reached for the calm which had been such a comfort earlier, shakily clinging to that sense of spiritual whole, but as soon as the questions began, they wouldn't stop, tumbling like boulders into the stream, impeding the flow, creating a dam as the confusion rose behind it.

Which was worse, facing the Captain or asking what Jean-Luc had meant? Where he'd been, why he'd been 'gone' from his family and friends? He'd intentionally acted horrendously towards Jack, stolen moments of his life from him and banished him from that period of time. There was no forgiveness in that. But asking Jean-Luc the questions of 'where' and 'how' and 'why' were far worse, begging answers which seemed improbable and in the realm of impossible. It _hurt_ to consider.

That would be dealt with later.

Ianto squared his shoulders, resolve inching towards defiance as he deliberately shoved aside the panic. He'd faced worse (roars, thousands of roars as Tiffany screamed and the air sucked backwards like giant turbine engines -- no. Those memories were for later) than Jack, and if the Captain wished to seek vengeance for Ianto's actions, he was certainly within that right and Ianto wouldn't stop him.

What he hadn't expected was the still face, eyes tracking movement but for all intents frozen in time. Jack's lips slightly parted, the tendons in his neck stretching the skin as it appeared he was torn between stunned stillness and the urge to run. Ianto had been ready for anger, ready for the threat of violence but he hadn't braced himself for Jack's silence, awkward and unnatural while the water tumbled down the tower. "Jack?"

The sound of Ianto's voice, or perhaps the question, was all it seemed to take to melt the fixed visage of the Captain. The shock wore off as his face flashed a million emotions before settling on one Ianto couldn't discern, didn't think he could even if his thoughts had been properly ordering themselves within his mind. Jack moved so quickly. Between one blink he was far away and the next he was so close that Ianto swore he could feel the rush of air currents swirl around him. He was swept up by strong arms in a grasp so tight it drove the air from his lungs. Not that he was concerned for breathing as Jack's fingers curled around the base of his skull, holding Ianto firmly in place, as though he wished to be anywhere else.

Jack didn't say anything, which unnerved Ianto as he waited beneath Jack's stare. Not a stare, Ianto amended, feeling Jack's breath heavy and hot. Smelling faintly of alcohol, he hovered just inches from his lips, connecting with the wild eyes and was he smelling Ianto? Jack's hand shook as it gripped the back of his neck, the other apparently locked into its position around Ianto's waist, pressing the wool uncomfortably into his skin, but he didn't move for fear of breaking whatever this was, whatever Jack needed. Their noses bumped, barely touching, more a tickle of sense than anything definite.

The anticipation was nearly as intense as the touch, from the hands clutching almost painfully and the feather-light grace of skin against skin to the knowledge of something waiting, not hiding but begging to be discovered where every question had answers and needs their fulfillment. Something waiting which had been searching for years. Something suspended by time, alive and glowing brilliant as flame beneath the surface of that flowing river.

Jack had all the time he wished, but Ianto felt time as precious as every trembling touch. He could almost see it, circling, coiling, loop after loop of existence, each point returning to the same position but a new location as nature and fate fought for balance, one holding no hold over the other. Jack, Jacks, didn't much matter, all the same position on the same coil, just a different location, backwards or forwards.

He remembered, a dream so long ago. Asleep and held within Jack's arms at his father's, tucked away warm and safe within his childhood bed. _"I'm with you, I am always with you, on every curve and coil."_

And Jack, true to his word, had been ... even now, along this new curve of life and time.

 _Jack._

Ianto moved on intuition and practice, more optimism than anxiety driving his actions because what was important was now, this time with Jack. And when Jack said _"forever"_ , Ianto believed it. He'd meant only a reassuring, welcoming press, comforting both himself and Jack, but that thought quickly devolved into less planned and more instinct, a primal kiss that left Ianto light-headed as hands scrabbled for points of touch, contact of skin limited to the captain's neck, face, and scalp as the rational portion of his mind still quietly reminded him they had an audience. He needed to confirm though that Jack was real, that he wasn't imagining things, hallucinating alone in the depths of his mind.

From the frantic, desperate grabs and the frenzied play of his tongue over Ianto's, it appeared Jack sought the same confirmation. He tugged on the greatcoat, using the wool to pull Ianto close, closer, so close that Ianto believed himself, for a moment, as much Jack as he was Ianto. That wasn't so bad, really, except for the seam indentations the greatcoat was sure to leave in Ianto's skin, leaving him patch-worked. Though perhaps that was truly him, pieces sewn together, the snapshots of time. Each experience a new piece, until Ianto was made whole.

He knew who he was, now, smashed against Jack, their hands clutching whatever hold they could find as their lips said everything they never said, their bodies warming to fire as they burned for everything they wanted but never asked.

Life. Love.

Frantic melted away as smooth chocolate dripping slowly down the edge of a cake, glazing the path in delicious hints of cacao and liquor, rich and slow their kisses once they realized that neither was moving or vanishing into intangible dreams. Slow and sure, every touch remembering what it was to feel the other, the taste of the full line of Jack's lower lip, the feel of the shallow dimple of his chin and the delicate curve of his ear. Everything was so very Jack, to the fall of his cheekbones and the angle of his jaw, so real and limited; infinity unmasked and unguarded, exposing itself to the presence of a moment and the dance of their tongues.

Fuck, he was beautiful, even if unexplainable by all human notions. But Ianto didn't care about explanations, nor did he demand commitments or promises because Jack followed on every curve, showed up in every circle of history. All that mattered was now, not the future or the past, only the present because Jack was _here_ and Ianto wanted to never abuse that gift. He supposed it might apply to himself as well if he'd really been gone for a year, judging by the way Jack appeared to be mapping Ianto's face as well as they kissed, remembering and memorizing every detail in actions reflecting Ianto's.

The here-and-now was amazing, fantastic beyond hope, a far cry from dragons and screams, blood and fear as the air retreated in sulfur-tinged flight. Brilliant white and gold as he clutched the blue pebble, warming ominously in his hand as he waited and knew; knew and accepted. Ianto squashed the memory back, shoving it ruthlessly into a far corner of his mind to be left undisturbed for the moment, because time was precious and the Captain was _now_.

But Jack was no fool, he'd felt Ianto's brief disorientation as he'd choked on the memory threatening to overwhelm him no matter how he'd tried to hide it. Ianto knew Jack hadn't looked into this mind, yet knew what had shaken him. Jack broke away, leaving the two of them audibly gasping for breath, staring at each other for just a brief second before Jack pulled Ianto close for a bone-crushing hug, cheeks pressing so tight Ianto could feel the Captain's stubble scratching against his skin. It'd leave a red mark, but as Jack's hand circled through Ianto's hair in sympathy or protection from whatever nightmares that plagued Ianto's thoughts, he found he really didn't much mind the red marks.

"You're alive."

Ianto wasn't quite sure who was meant to be reassured by Jack's words. Perhaps a little of them both. He smiled as he turned his face against the Captain's neck, pressing his nose against the tender skin behind Jack's ear. "So're you," he all but laughed in reply, tightening his arms, relishing the feel of solid weight beneath his hands. "Jack, I'm sorry-"

"No. No apologies." The touch on his neck grew stronger, reinforcing Jack's words. Ianto would have cringed beneath the touch had it not been Jack's hands doing the touching. "I would have stopped you," Jack avowed, and Ianto didn't doubt the fervor or the promise of what might have been. A determined Jack was an unstoppable man, "and that would have been quite possibly the worst decision I have ever made. Ianto, you are Mr. Black. I just ... I understand now."

The blush started at his ears, creeping forward until it stained his cheeks and Ianto was fairly certain his nose, too. Jack had spoken with such alacrity, such vehemence he couldn't know what he was saying. But Ianto was pulled away from Jack's neck, fingers brushing his stained cheeks before his chin was tilted to see the open honesty in Jack's eyes. He'd have fidgeted but something on the Captain's face made him hold still. Pride? His face flushed deeper, to Jack's amusement, and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying anything childish. "Who was my replacement?"

Jack's smile faltered and Ianto chided himself for his lack of tact. He'd believed Ianto dead. They'd all believed him dead. And perhaps he had been; he still wasn't quite sure. "Your sister, Ms. Blue." Ianto grinned at the idea of another Jones continuing the tradition. "Though I imagine she'll be turning that role back over to you. Never liked the protocol much, or the budgets. Or any of it, really. But she was determined to carry on the family honor." Jack's voice dropped to a whisper, winking. "She scares me too, but don't tell her. She'd quit bringing me pastries when she dropped in for inspection."

Ianto laughed at the idea of his sister scaring Jack, though knowing full-well how frightening she could be when it came to her family and loved ones. With a brow arching, stretching muscles which felt like they'd not performed the action in quite some time, Ianto smoothly straightened Jack's shirt collar. "I suppose you'll need to take to calling me 'sir' then."

The joyous laughter meant more to Ianto than all the praise in the world.

Jack returned the favor, straightening the passants and lapels on the greatcoat. _Jack's_ greatcoat. Ianto paused to run his cheek over the material again, smelling it, grinning when Jack's eyes visibly darkened at Ianto's action. "Go on, you have some people who are probably quite happy to see you." His voice was hoarse, the voice Ianto heard at odd times, be it during sex or when Jack thought he was asleep. Jack smiled, nodding his head in the general direction of all the others as though Ianto wasn't aware of who the Captain meant. "And after that, I am taking you home where I'll give you a proper welcome. Preferably while you're still wearing my coat."

As Ianto was pushed towards the others who swarmed around him like bees to honey once they'd been given whatever sign they were waiting for to release the tide, he turned to look back at Jack, who stood so proud and confident before the water tower, the flowing river framing him perfectly. His mind might still be playing catch up, Ianto knew he and Jack had details from the past to work through despite the relief of reunion, but he knew there was love. And respect. He could never go back to the shadows to hide so quiet as to pass unnoticed. Not with Jack, not with his friends, family and team, and most certainly, not with his duty and responsibility: for Queen and country, for the world and for the city of Cardiff, the place he called home. But even if he could, he wouldn't go back, not now. Some were luckier than others, and Ianto considered himself one of the luckiest.

Like Jack said, he was Mr. Black, more than just a tea-boy.

And he wasn't alone.

***  
***

"Oi, that was brilliant!" The Doctor rocked forward while holding on to the bar railing. Broderick couldn't very well disagree. After all, it wasn't every day one's son was awakened from the eternal sleep. But their family had never gone about things in the most sensible of manners, and he supposed death was one of them that may always be a little skewed. "He's your son, then?"

Broderick nodded, waving with a smile at Bryce and Gareth when they looked up to see where he was. He hadn't gone down to speak with Ianto yet, but he would, when perhaps he wouldn't risk a limb to hug his son as the group of family and friends celebrated his return. For once, the tears shed weren't in sorrow, nor were the shouts in grief. Torchwood was a dangerous business, but he only had the heart to comfort Elaine once. He didn't think he could do it again. He avoided looking at the Doctor. No need, really, and besides, he figured the Doctor was doing enough staring for the both of them. A squall rose above the chatter; the girl called Martha took to bouncing the baby Ianto while cooing nonsense to the child. Wasn't but thirty years ago when he was doing the same thing, his own baby Ianto cradled so carefully in his hands, falling asleep to the tales of an old man. "A man of legend."  
   
The Doctor's mood shifted suddenly, though Broderick had been expecting it since the Doctor and his companion had entered the conference room. "Yeah, about that. This show," the Doctor waved a hand about, gesturing towards the group standing around Ianto before turning an accusing finger on Broderick. "You knew. How? How do you know what's to come?"

"Come now, Time Lord," Broderick smiled as the Doctor scowled and leaned against the railing, crossing his arms like he was a technological puzzle to figure out. He calmly removed his pipe kit from his pocket, balanced a tin of tobacco on the railing while the Doctor waited for an answer, preparing the pipe he knew Ianto would request eventually. Some things weren't so hard to figure out, his son's comfort in the smell of pipe smoke up near the top. He imagined the full impact of what happened would leave Ianto shaken. Best excuse to start now. And to find the coffee maker; Broderick assumed coffee would be requested too. "I'm a student of myths and legends. Events such as these, they will not soon be forgotten. Oh, the tale might change in time, growing as myths do, generation to generation until you or I would hardly recognize the lad, the king heralding in a new era, a glorious Camelot of the ages when utopia thrived among the people of Earth. But that would just be myth, wouldn't it?"

The Time Lord didn't say anything for some time, just watched the mundane actions of practiced tapping and lighting the pipe. Broderick took but two puffs before Ianto's eyes shot up towards where he stood, the relief clear on his face. Not too early for the comforting smell, it would seem. Finally the Doctor spoke, bluntly and without question. "You don't belong to this time."

"Don't I?" Broderick gestured with his pipe to his family: the twins refusing to let go of Ianto's legs, Elaine clinging to her brother so fiercely he rather feared for his son's ability to breathe, and finally his son, standing so tall in the center of it all, if not appearing overwhelmingly embarrassed by the attention. "If anyone is misplaced, I would say it to be you, Time Lord." His firm defense of his family softened into one of sympathy, miming the Doctor's lean against the railing as he smoked his pipe with thoughtful patience. "Though one might say you've lost your place to belong. It would be a hard life, but at least you're not alone." Broderick smiled at Martha still holding baby Ianto for Gwen and Rhys. "But it's still not home."

Silence stretched between the two men, the Doctor blatantly avoiding Broderick by turning away, one foot on the lowest rung, his elbows on the top rail as he stared at the water tower. Broderick let him be, entertaining himself by blowing smoke rings perfected long ago. Identical circles, one after the other, drifting across the open room of the Hub until they slowly dissipated much as the mists which had wafted in from the ancient forests.

"Let me tell you of a legend of my people, Broderick, father of Ianto." The Doctor's voice startled him mid-ring, ruining that attempt but Broderick wasn't to be deterred. Starting a new one as though he had never been interrupted, he listened, curious as the Doctor continued. "Story says there was one of us, a Time Lord, who led a rebellion against every rule, every advance, every social and political belief, corrupt or not. Ended poorly, the Time Lord standing on his own, the others choosing to be reconditioned or left the city. He was brought to trial for his actions but escaped before verdict, clever man. Only one to ever successfully erase their own bio-data and collective memory from the Matrix ... well, erase it and live."

The Doctor paused a moment; Broderick just waited without response, curious to hear the end of the story. "He fled Gallifrey and none could find him, not even within their minds; presumed dead and swiftly forgotten. But the stories, oh, the stories told about this man." Broderick could feel the Doctor's excitement as it built, the previous downturn of emotion giving way to the swing towards joy in discovery. "It was whispered he lived, lost away on some forgotten world in some forgotten time, meddling in affairs the Time Lords refused to acknowledge or bother with. A bit my hero, that man," the Doctor smiled fondly, his Chuck Tayler-clad foot swinging on the railing. "But, that would just be myth, wouldn't it? Unless, like Mr. Black, there's a real man behind the legend."

Broderick just smiled at the Doctor's poignant look, forming yet another perfect smoke ring, and then another and another in rapid fire, almost successfully joining the three rings. He feigned a bit of surprise, hand jerking the pipe away from his lips before he could inhale the spicy tobacco. "Oh, are you implying me? You're mistaken, I'm just a simple man, Time Lord, with a home in the hills and a lovely family."

"Now, that would be foolish of me, wouldn't it? I'm the last one. I'd _know_ if there was another." The Doctor's voice dropped to nearly a hiss, angry as he tapped his head. "After all that has been lost, it'd be ridiculous to think that any would stay in hiding when only one remains." Instantly, the capricious man's mood shifted, causing Broderick, mostly unflappable he thought, to blink at the shift in tone. "Course, an old friend said I wasn't alone. Didn't believe him at the time, but ... maybe he was right."

"Wouldn't be the first time the Time Lords were wrong." Broderick looked down on his family, Ianto's partner, team, and his friends. Only one was missing from the reunion. He sadly reflected that his wife would have been proud of her son for everything he had accomplished, everyone he had saved. So many lost, so much taken, but she had done what she must. Ianto succeeded her with every respect and honor to their family.

Viviene would have been most proud.

Jack was watching the Doctor and him with a bit of a frown on his face. Broderick smiled brazenly at Jack and waved, knowing it'd unnerve the man. A good thing, given his relationship with Ianto. His son deserved the best, and it wouldn't hurt to keep Jack a little off-balance. More amusing than anything, really. He and the Doctor stood shoulder to shoulder, overlooking the Hub floor and the people still swarming his son with their exuberance. He raised the pipe to his lips, pausing to ask a question before he took a puff. "This legend of yours, did he have a name?"

The Doctor glanced at him, and Broderick caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. At first, Broderick thought he wasn't going to answer. The silence stretched between them, only broken by the screaming laughter of the twins as Owen swung each in the air. But the Doctor's voice carried low, almost cracking in the quiet. "The stories say his name was Myrddin."

Broderick smiled, the soft huff of laughter escaping his lips before he could completely tamp it down, knowing the Time Lord still watched and might take laughter as mockery. In fact, the Doctor had turned away, his usually expressive face staring stoically out at the water tower. Broderick gently patted the Doctor's hand, a pat which turned into a desperate grip as the Doctor turned his hand into Broderick's, the Time Lord blindly clutching despite the apparent inattention.

"Just myths and legends, Doctor," Broderick said softly, watching his son. "In the end, we are all just myths and legends."

 _Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest debt and gratitude to my wonderful beta, plot bunny feeder, and general cheerleader, lilithilien. Without her constant support, prodding, 'yes you cans!' and hand holding at times, I don't know if this would have ever been finished. Or looked or sounded half as well as it did. I kid you not. I'd call her an angel, but she might take offense to that so I'll just say I'm forever her bitch. ;)
> 
> Thanks as well to fivealive who was my constant fluffer - for listening while I babbled and hashed out plot points and supporting my idea to kill Ianto. *g* Hours upon hours on the telephone! I wouldn't be surprised if that thing was permanently affixed to her head.
> 
> And to those two as well for getting me into Torchwood to begin with. What would the world be like without teh Janto? Seriously, their love is so canon.
> 
> A hundred thanks to cs_whitewolf who provided naked Ianto and Jack muses whenever the going got tough. They even danced in the rain sometimes, a beautiful sight to behold.
> 
> And most of all, thanks to everyone who kept reading despite delays in schedules, essploding Ianto, and bearing with me through the past 200,000+ word journey. It's been fun! And now, on to the next adventure.


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